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THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


BY 


HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 

»* • 


TWENTY-FOURTH EDITION. 



BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 
New York : 1 1 East Seventeenth Street. 

<&f)t Ufttcrsibc Cambriboe. 

1887. 




TZ 5 

a 


•* 


Copyright, 1859 and 1887, 

By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 


AU rights reserved. 


The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Cc 


fr- 


T ^ 

THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

c 

CHAPTER I. 

PRE-RAILROAD TIMES. 

Mrs. Katy Scudder had invited Mrs. Brown, and 
Mrs. Jones, and Deacon Twitchel’s wife to take tea 
with her on the afternoon of June second, a. d. 17 — . 

When one has a story to tell, one is always puz- 
zled which end of it to begin at You have a whole 
corps of people to introduce that you know and your 
reader doesn’t ; and one thing so presupposes anoth- 
er, that, whichever way you turn your patchwork, 
the figures still seem ill-arranged. The small item 
which I have given will do as well as any other to 
begin with, as it certainly will lead you to ask, 
u Pray, who was Mrs. Katy Scudder?” — and this 
will start me systematically on my story. 

You must understand that in the then small sea- 
port-town of Newport, at that time unconscious of its 
present fashion and fame, there lived nobody in those 
days who did not know “ the Widow Scudder.” 

1 


2 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


In New England settlements a custon has obtain 
ed, which is wholesome and touching, of ennobling 
the woman whom God has made desolate, by a sort 
of brevet rank which continually speaks for her as a 
claim on the respect and consideration of the com- 
munity. The Widow Jones, or Brown, or Smith, is 
one of the fixed institutions of every New England 
village, — and doubtless the designation acts as a 
continual plea for one whom bereavement, like the 
lightning of heaven, has made sacred. 

The Widow Scudder, however, was one of the 
sort of women who reign queens in whatever so- 
ciety they move ; nobody was more quoted, more 
deferred to, or enjoyed more unquestioned position 
than she. She was not rich, — a small farm, with a 
modest, “ gambrel-roofed,” one-story cottage, was her 
sole domain ; but she was one of the much-admired 
class who, in the speech of New England, are said 
to have u faculty,” — a gift which, among that shrewa 
people, commands more esteem than beauty, riches, 
learning, or any other worldly endowment. Faculty 
is Yankee for savoir faire , and the opposite virtue 
to shiftlessness. Faculty is the greatest virtue, and 
shiftlessness the greatest vice, of Yankee man and 
woman. To her who has faculty nothing shall be 
impossible. She shall scrub floors, wash, wring 
bake, brew, and yet her hands shall be small and 
white; she shall have no perceptible income, yet 
always be handsomely dressed ; she shall have not n 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


3 


lervant in her house, — with a dairy to manage, hired 
men to feed, a boarder or two to care for, unheard- 
of pickling and preserving to do, — and yet you com- 
monly see her every afternoon sitting at he^ shady 
parlor-window behind the lilacs, cool and easy, hem- 
ming muslin cap-strings, or reading the last new 
book. She who hath faculty is never in a hurry, 
never behindhand. She can always step over to 
distressed Mrs. Smith, whose jelly won’t come, — 
and stop to show Mrs. Jones how she makes her 
pickles so green, — and be ready to watch with 
poor old Mrs. Simpkins, who is down with the 
rheumatism. 

Of this genus was the Widow Scudder, — or, as 
the neighbors would have said of her, she that was 
Katy Stephens. Katy was the only daughter of a 
shipmaster, sailing from Newport harbor, who was 
wrecked off the coast one cold December night, and 
left small fortune to his widow and only child. 
Katy grew up, however, a tall, straight, black-eyed 
girl, with eyebrows drawn true as a bow, a foot 
arched like a Spanish woman’s, and a little hand 
which never saw the thing it could not do, — quick 
of speech, ready of wit, and, as such girls have a 
right to be, somewhat positive <vithal. Katy could 
harness a chaise ; . or row a boat ; she could saddle 
and ride any horse in the neighborhood ; she could 
cut any garment that ever was seen or thought of 
make cake, jelly, and wine, from her earliest years 


4 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINb. 


in most precocious style; — all without seeming to 
derange a sort of trim, well-kept air of ladyhood 
that sat jauntily on her. 

Of course, being young and lively, she had her 
admirers, and some well-to-do in worldly affairs laid 
their lands and houses at Katy’s feet ; but, to the 
wonder of all, she would not even pick them up to 
look at them. People shook their heads, and won- 
dered whom Katy Stephens expected to get, and 
talked about going through the wood to pick up a 
crooked stick, — till one day she astonished her 
world by marrying a man that nobody ever thought 
of her taking. 

George Scudder was a grave, thoughtful young 
man, — not given to talking, and silent in the 
society of women, with that kind of reverential 
bashfulness which sometimes shows a pure, un- 
worldly nature. How Katy came to fancy him 
everybody wondered, — for he never talked to her 
never so much as picked up her glove when it fell 
never asked her to ride or sail ; in short, everybody 
said she must have wanted him from sheer wilful- 
less, because he of all the young men of the neigh 
borhood never courted her. But Katy, having very 
sharp eyes, saw «nme things that nobody else saw 
For example, you must know she discovered by 
mere accident that George Scudder always was 
looking at her. wherever she moved, though he 
looked away in a moment, if discovered, — and that 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


b 


an accidental touch of her hand or brush of her 
dress would send the blood into his cheek like the 
spirit in the tube of a thermometer; and so, as 
women are curious, you know, Katy amused her- 
self with investigating the causes of these little 
phenomena, and, before she knew it, got her foot 
caught in a cobweb that held her fast, and con- 
strained her, whether she would or no, to marry 
a poor man that nobody cared much for but 
herself. 

George w&s, in truth, one of the sort who evi- 
dently have made some mistake in coming into this 
world at all, as their internal furniture is in no way 
suited to its general courses and currents. He was 
of the order of dumb poets, — most wretched when 
put to the grind of the hard and actual ; for if he 
who would utter poetry stretches out his hand to a 
gainsaying world, he is worse off still who is pos- 
sessed with the desire of living it. Especially is 
this the case, if he be born poor, and with a dire 
necessity upon him of making immediate efforts 
in the hard and actual. George had a helpless 
invalid mother to support; so, though he loved 
reading and silent thought above all things, he put 
to instant use the only convertible worldly talent 
he possessed, which was a mechanical genius, and 
shipped at sixteen as a ship-carpenter He studied 
navigation in the forecastle, and found in its calm 
diagrams and tranquil eternal signs food for bis 


6 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


thoughtful nature, and a reluge from the brutality 
and coarseness of sea-life. He had a healthful, 
kindly animal nature, and so his inwardness die, 
not ferment and turn to Byronic sourness and 
bitterness; nor did he needlessly parade to every- 
body in his vicinity the great gulf which lay be- 
tween him and them. He was called a good 
fellow, — only a little lumpish, — and as he was 
brave and faithful, he rose in time to be a ship- 
master. But when came the business of making 
money, the aptitude for accumulating, George found 
himself distanced by many a one with not half his 
general powers. 

What shall a man do with a sublime tier of 
moral faculties, when the most profitable business 
out of his port is the slave-trade ? So it was in 
Newport in those days. George’s first voyage was 
on a slaver, and he wished himself dead many a 
time before it was over, — and ever after would 
talk like a man beside himself, if the subject was 
named. He declared that the gold made in it was 
distilled from human blood, from mothers’ tears, 
from the agonies and dying groans of gasping, 
suffocating men and women, and that it would sear 
and blister the soul of him that touched it; in short, 
he talked as whole-souJed, unpractical fellows are 
apt to talk about what respectable people sometimes 
do. Nobody had ever instructed him that a slave- 
•hip, with a procession of expectant sharks in iti 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


7 


wake, is a missionary institution, by which closely* 
packed heathens are brought over to enjoy the light 
of the gospel. 

So, though George was acknowledged to be a 
good fellow, and honest as the noon-mark on the 
kitchen floor, he let slip so many chances of making 
money as seriously to compromise his reputation 
among thriving folks. He was wastefully gener- 
ous, — insisted on treating every poor dog that 
came in his way, in any foreign port, as a brother, 
— absolutely refused to be party in cheating or 
deceiving the heathen on any shore, or in skin of 
any color, — and also took pains, as far as in him 
lay, to spoil any bargains which any of his subor- 
dinates founded on the ignorance or weakness of 
his fellow-men. So he made voyage after voyage, 
and gained only his wages and the reputation 
among his employers of an incorruptibly honest 
fellow. 

To be sure, it was said that he carried out books 
m his ship, and read and studied, and wrote obser- 
vations on all the countries he saw, which Parson 
Smith told Miss Dolly Persimmon would really do 
credit to a printed book ; but then they never were 
printed, or, as Miss Dolly remarked of them, they 
never seemed to come to anything, — and coming 
to anything, as she understood it, meant standing 
in definite relations to bread and butter. 

George never oared, however, for monev. Hu 


5 


THE MINISTER’S WOCING 


made enough to keep his mother comfortable, and 
tnat was enough for him, till he tell in love with 
Katy Stephens. He looked at her through those 
glasses which such men carry in their souls, and 
she was a mortal woman no longer, but a trans- 
figured, glorified creature, — an object of awe and 
wonder. He was actually afraid of her ; her glove, 
her shoe, her needle, thread, and thimble, her bonnet- 
string, everything, in short, she wore or touched, be- 
came invested with a mysterious charm. He won- 
dered at the impudence of men that could walk up 
and talk to her, — that could ask her to dance with 
Biich an assured air. Now he wished he were rich ; 
he dreamed impossible chances of his coming home 
a millionnaire to lay unknown wealth at Katy’s feet ; 
and when Miss Persimmon, the ambulatory dress- 
maker of the neighborhood, in making up a new 
black gown for his mother, recounted how Captain 
Blatherem had sent Katy Stephens u ’most the 
splendidest India shawl that ever she did see,” he 
was ready to tear his hair at the thought of his 
poverty. But even in that hour of temptation he 
did not repent that he had refused all part and lot 
in the ship by which Captain Blatherem’s money 
was made, for he knew every timber of it to be 
seasoned by the groans and saturated with the 
Bweat of human agony. True love is a natural 
sacrament; and if ever a young man thanks God 
for having saved what is noble and ina ily in his 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


9 


soul, it is when he thinks of offering it to the 
woman he loves. Nevertheless, the India-shawl 
story cost him a night’s rest ; nor was it till Miss 
Persimmon had ascertained by a private confab' 
ulation with Katy’s mother that she had indig- 
nantly rejected it, and that she treated the Captain 
* real ridiculous,” that he began to take heart. 
‘ He ought not,” he said, u to stand in her way 
now, when he had nothing to offer. No, he would 
leave Katy free to do better, if she could ; he would 
try his luck ; and if, when he came home from the 
next voyage, Katy was disengaged, why, then he 
would lay all at her feet.” 

And so George was going to sea with a secret 
shrine in his soul, at which he was to burn unsus- 
pected incense. 

But, after all, the mortal maiden whom he adored 
suspected this private arrangement, and contrived — 
as women will — to get her own key into the lock 
of his secret temple ; because, as girls say, u she 
was determined to know what was there.” So, one 
night, she met him quite accidentally on the sea- 
sands, struck up a little conversation, and begged 
him in such a pretty way to bring her a spotted 
shell from the South Sea, like the one on his 
mother’s mantel-piece, and looked so simple and 
childlike in saying it, that our young man very 
imprudently committed himself by remarking, that 
When people had rich friends to bring them al 


10 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


the world from foreign parts, he never dreamed of 
her wanting so trivial a thing.” 

Of course Katy “ didn’t know what he meant, — 
she hadn’t heard of any rich friends.” And then 
3ame something about Captain Blatherem ; and 
Katy tossed her head, and said, “ If anybody 
vanted to insult her, they might talk to her about 
Captain Blatherem,” — and then followed this, that, 
and the other, till finally, as you might expect, out 
came all that never was to have been said ; and 
Katy was almost frightened at the terrible earnest- 
ness of the spirit she had evoked. She tried to 
laugh, and ended by crying, and saying she hardly 
knew what ; but when she came to herself in her 
own room at home, she found on her finger a ring of 
African gold that George had put there, which she 
did not send back like Captain Blatherem’s presents. 

Katy was like many intensely matter-of-fact and 
practical women, who have not in themselves a bit 
of poetry or a particle of ideality, but who yet wor- 
ship these qualities in others with the homage which 
the Indians paid to the unknown tongue of the 
first whites. They are secretly weary of a certain 
conscious dryness of nature in themselves, and this 
weariness predisposes them to idolize the man whe 
brings them this unknown gift. Naturalists say that 
every defect of organization has its compensation, 
and men of ideal natures find in the favor of womer 
die equivalent for their disabilities among men. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


11 


Do you remember, at Niagara, a little cataract on 
the American side, which throws its silver sheeny 
veil over a cave called the Grot of Rainbows ? 
Whoever stands on a rock in that grotto sees him- 
self in the centre of a rainbow-circle, above, below, 
around. In like manner, merry, chatty, positive, 
busy, housewifely, Katy saw herself standing in a 
rainbow-shrine in her lover’s inner soul, and liked to 
see herself so. A woman, by-the-by, must be very 
insensible, who is not moved to come upon a higher 
plane of being, herself, by seeing how undoubtingly 
she is insphered in the heart of a good and noble 
man. A good man’s faith in you, fair lady, if you 
ever have it, will make you better and nobler even 
before you know it. 

Katy made an excellent wife ; she took home her 
husband’s old mother and nursed her with a dutiful- 
ness and energy worthy of all praise, and made her 
own keen outward faculties and deft handiness a 
compensation for the defects in worldly estate. 
Nothing would make Katy’s black eyes flash 
quicker than any reflections on her husband’s 
want of luck in the material line. “ She didn’t 
know whose business it was, if she was satisfied. 
She hated these sharp, gimlet, gouging sort of men 
that would put a screw between body and soul for 
money. George had that in him that nobody un 
derstood. She would rather be his wife on bread 
and water than to take Captain Blatherem’s bouse 


12 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


carriages, and horses, and all, — and she might have 
had ’em fast enough, dear knows. She was sick of 
making money when she saw what sort of men 
could make it,” — and so on. All which talk did 
her infinite credit, because after all she did care 
and was naturally as proud and ambitious a little 
minx as ever breathed, and was thoroughly grieved 
at heart at George’s want of worldly success ; but, 
like a nice little Robin Redbreast, she covered up 
the grave of her worldliness with the leaves of true 
love, and sung a “ Who cares for that ? ” above it. 

Her thrifty management of the money her hus- 
band brought her soon bought a snug little farm 
and put up the little brown gambrel-roofed cottage 
to which we directed your attention in the first of 
our story. Children were born to them ; and George 
found, in short intervals between voyages, his home 
an earthly paradise. He was still sailing, with the 
fond illusion, in every voyage, of making enough to 
remain at home, — when the yellow fever smote him 
flnder the line, and the ship returned to Newport 
without its captain. 

George was a Christian man ; — he had been one 
of the first to attach himself to the unpopular and 
unworldly ministry of the celebrated Dr. Hopkins 
and to appreciate the sublime ideality and unselfish- 
ness of those teachings which then were awakening 
new sensations in the theological mind of New Eng- 
land. Katy, too, had become a professor with hei 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


11 


husband in the same church, and her husband’s 
death in the midst of life deepened the power of her 
religious impressions. She became absorbed in re- 
ligion, after the fashion of New England, where 
devotion is doctrinal, not ritual. As she grew older, 
her energy of character, her vigor and good judg- 
ment, caused her to be regarded as a mother in 
Israel ; the minister boarded at her house, and it 
was she who was first to be consulted in all matters 
relating to the well-being of the church. No woman 
could more manfully breast a long sermon, or bring 
a more determined faith to the reception of a difficult 
doctrine. To say the truth, there lay at the bottom 
)f her doctrinal system this stable corner-stone, — 

Mr. Scudder used to believe it, — I will.” And 
after all that is said about independent thought, isn’t 
the fact, that a just and good soul has thus or thus 
believed, a more respectable argument than many 
that often are adduced ? If it be not, more’s the 
pity, — since two thirds of the faith in the world is 
built on no better foundation. 

In time, George’s old mother was gathered to her 
son, and two sons and a daughter followed their 
father to the invisible, — one only remaining of the 
flock, and she a person with whom you and I, good 
reader, have joint concern in the further unf of fling 
of our story 


14 


THE MINIS*- 1V00INC*. 


CHAPTER H. 

THE KITCHEN. 

As I before remarked, Mrs. Katy Scudder had in 
cited company to tea. Strictly speaking, it is neces 
sary to begin with the creation of the world, in ordei 
to give a full account of anything. But, for popular 
use, something less may serve one’s turn, and there- 
fore I shall let the past chapter suffice to introduce 
my story, and shall proceed to arrange my scenery 
and act my little play, on the supposition that you 
^now enough to understand things and persons. 

Being asked to tea in our New England in the 
year 17 — meant something very different from the 
same invitation in our more sophisticated days. In 
those times, people held to the singular opinion that 
the night was made to sleep in ; they inferred it 
from a general confidence they had in the wisdom 
of Mother Nature, supposing that she did not put 
out her lights and draw her bed-curtains and hush 
all noise in her great world-house without strongly 
intending that her children should go to sleep ; and 
the consequence was, that very soon after sunset the 
whole community very generally set their faces bed 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


13 


ward, and the tolling of the nine-o’clock evening-bell 
had an awful solemnity in it, announcing the end 
of all respectable proceedings in life for that day. 
Good society in New England in those days very 
generally took its breakfast at six, its dinner at 
twelve, and its tea at six. “ Company tea,” how- 
ever, among thrifty, industrious folk, was often 
taken an hour earlier, because each of the invitees 
had children to put to bed, or other domestic cares 
at home ; and, as in those simple times people were 
invited because you wanted to see them, a tea-party 
assembled themselves at three and held session til] 
sundown, when each matron rolled up her knitting- 
work and wended soberly home. 

Though Newport, even in those early times, was 
not without its families which affected state and 
splendor, rolled about in carriages with armorial em- 
blazonments, and had servants in abundance to 
every turn within-doors, yet there, as elsewhere in 
New England, the majority of the people lived with 
the wholesome, thrifty simplicity of the olden time, 
when labor and intelligence went hand in hand in 
perhaps a greater harmony than the world has ever 
Been. 

Our scene opens in the great, old-fashioned kitch- 
en, which, on ordinary occasions, is the family din 
ing and sitting-room of the Scudder family I knov? 
fastidious moderns think that the working-room 
wherein are carried on the culinary operations of a 


16 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING, 


large family, must necessarily be an untidy and 
comfortless sitting-place ; but it is only because 
they are ignorant of the marvellous workings which 
pertain to the organ of “ faculty,” on which we 
have before insisted. The kitchen of a New Eng- 
land matron was her throne-room, her pride ; it was 
the habit of her life to produce the greatest possible 
results there with the slightest possible discom- 
posure ; and what any woman could do, Mrs. Katy 
Scudder could do par excellence . Everything there 
seemed to be always done and never doing. Wash- 
ing and baking, those formidable disturbers of the 
composure of families, were all over with in those 
two or three morning-hours when we are composing 
ourselves for a last nap, — and only the fluttering of 
linen over the green yard, on Monday mornings, 
proclaimed that the dreaded solemnity of a wash 
had transpired. A breakfast arose there as by 
magic ; and in an incredibly short space after, every 
knife, fork, spoon, and trencher, clean and shining, 
was looking as innocent and unconscious in its 
place as if it never had been used and never ex- 
pected to be. 

The floor, — perhaps, Sir, you remember youi 
grandmother’s floor, of snowy boards sanded with 
whitest sand ; you remember the ancient fireplace 
stretching quite across one end, — a vast cavern, in 
each corner of which a cozy seat might be found 
distant enough to enjoy the crackle of the great jolly 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


17 


wood-fire ; across the room ran a dresser, on whicn 
was displayed great store of shining pewter dishes 
and plates, which always shone with the same mys- 
terious brightness ; and by the side of trie fire, a 
commodious wooden “ settee,” or settle, offered re- 
pose to people too little accustomed to luxury to ask 
for a cushion. Oh, that kitchen of the olden times, 
the old, clean, roomy New England kitchen! — who 
that has breakfasted, dined, and supped in one has 
not cheery visions of its thrift, its warmth, its cool- 
ness ? The noon-mark on its floor was a dial that 
told off some of the happiest days ; thereby did we 
right up the short-comings of the solemn old clock 
that tick-tacked in the corner, and whose ticks 
seemed mysterious prophecies of unknown good yet 
to arise out of the hours of life. How dreamy the 
winter twilight came in there, — when as yet the 
candes were not lighted, — when the crickets chirped 
around the dark stone hearth, and shifting tongues 
of flame flickered and cast dancing shadows and elf- 
ish lights on the walls, while grandmother nodded 
over her knitting-work, and puss purred, and old 
Rover lay dreamily opening now one eye and then 
the other on the family group ! With all our ceiled 
houses, let us not forget our grandmothers’ kitchens 1 
But we must pause, however, and back to oui 
Bubject-matter, which is in the kitchen of Mrs. Katy 
Scudder, who has just put into the oven, by the fire- 
place, some wondrous tea-rusks, fcr whose comprsi 


18 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


fcion she is renowned. She has examined and pro 
nounced perfect a loaf of cake, which has been 
prepared for the occasion, and which, as usual, is 
done exactly right. The best room, too, has been 
opened and aired, — the white window-curtains sa 
luted with a friendly little shake, as when one says, 
u How d’ye do ? ” to a friend ; — for you must know, 
clean as our kitchen is, we are genteel, and have 
something better for company. Our best room in 
here has a polished little mahogany tea-table, and 
six mahogany chairs, with claw talons grasping 
balls; the white sanded floor is crinkled in curious 
little waves, like those on the seabeach ; and right 
across the corner stands the “ buffet,” as it is called, 
with its transparent glass doors, wherein are dis- 
played the solemn appurtenances of company tea- 
table. There you may see a set of real China 
teacups, which George bought in Canton, and had 
marked with his and his wife’s joint initials, — a 
small silver cream-pitcher, which has come down 
as an heirloom from unknown generations, — silver 
spoons and delicate China cake-plates, which have 
been all carefully reviewed and wiped on napkins of 
Mrs. Scudder’s own weaving. 

Her cares now over, she stands drying her hands 
on a roller- towel in the ldtchen, while her only 
daughter, the gentle Mary, stands in the doorway 
with the afternoon sun streaming in spots of flicker* 
mg golden light on her smooth pale-brown hair,— 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


19 


a petite figure in a full stuff petticoat ai d white 
Bhort gown, she stands reaching up one hand and 
cooing to something among the apple-blossoms, — 
and now a Java dove comes whirring down and 
settles on her finger, — and we, that have seen pic- 
tures, think, as we look on her girlish face, with its 
lines of statuesque beauty, on the tremulous, half- 
infantine expression of her lovely mouth, and the 
general air of simplicity and purity, of some old 
pictures of the girlhood of the Virgin. But Mrs 
Scudder was thinking of no such Popish matter, ] 
can assure you, — not she! I don’t think you could 
lave done her a greater indignity than to mention 
ner daughter in any such connection. She had 
never seen a painting in her life, and therefore was 
not to be reminded of them; and furthermore, the 
dove was evidently, for some reason, no favorite, — 
for she said, in a quick, imperative tone, “ Come, 
come, child! don’t fool with that bird, — it’s high 
time we were dressed and ready,” — and Mary, 
blushing, as it would seem, even to her hair, gave 
a little toss, and sent the bird, like a silver fluttering 
cloud, up among the rosy apple-blossoms. And 
now she and her mother have gone to their respec- 
tive little bedrooms for the adjustment of theii 
toilettes; and while the door is shut and nobody 
hears us, we shall talk to you about Mary. 

Newport at the present day blooms like a flower- 
garden with young ladies of the best ton , — lovely 


20 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


girls, hopes of their families, possessed of amiable 
tempers and immensely large tranks, and capable 
of sporting ninety changes of raiment in thirty days 
and otherwise rapidly emptying the purses of dis- 
tressed fathers, and whom yet travellers and the 
world in general look upon as genuine specimens of 
^ the kind of girls formed by American institutions. 

We fancy such a one lying in a rustling silk 
negligee , and, amid a gentle generality of rings, 
ribbons, puffs, laces, beaux, and dinner-discussion, 
reading our humble sketch ; — and what favor shall 
our poor heroine find in her eyes ? For though hei 
mother was a world of energy and “faculty,” in 
herself considered, and had bestowed on this one 
little lone chick all the vigor and all the care and all 
the training which would have sufficed for a family 
of sixteen, there were no results produced which 
could be made appreciable in the eyes of such 
company. She could not waltz or polk, or speak 
bad French, or sing Italian songs ; but, nevertheless, 
we must proceed to say what was her education and 
what her accomplishments. 

Well, then, she could both read and write fluently 
in the mother-tongue. She could spin Doth on the 
little and the great wheel ; and there were number- 
less towels, napkins, sheets, and pillcw-cases in tht 
household store that could attest the skill of her 
pretty fingers. She had worked several samplers 
of such rare merit, that they hung framed in differ 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


21 


ent rooms of the house, exhibiting e\ery variety and 
style of possible letter in the best marking-stitch. 
She wis skilful in all sewing and embroidery, in all 
shaping and cutting, with a quiet and deft handiness 
that constantly surprised her energetic mother, who 
could not conceive that so much could be done with 
so little noise. In fact, in all household lore she was 
a veritable good fairy ; her knowledge seemed un- 
erring and intuitive ; and whether she washed or 
ironed, or moulded biscuit or conserved plums, her 
gentle beauty seemed to turn to poetry all the prose 
of life. 

There was something in Mary, however, which 
divided her as by an appreciable line from ordinary 
girls of her age. From her father she had inherited 
a deep and thoughtful nature, predisposed to moral 
and religious exaltation. Had she been born in 
Italy, under the dissolving influences of that sunny 
dreamy clime, beneath the shadow of cathedrals, 
and where pictured saints and angels smiled in 
clouds of painting from every arch and altar, she 
might, like fair St. Catherine of Siena, have seen 
beatific visions in the sunset skies, and a silver dove 
descending upon her as she prayed ; but, unfolding 
in the clear, keen, cold New England clime, and 
nurtured in its abstract and positive theologies, her 
religious faculties took other forms. Instead of ly« 
ing entranced in mysterious raptures at the foot of 
altars, she read and pondered treatises on the Will 


22 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


and listened in rapt attention, while her spiritual 
guide, the venerated Dr. Hopkins, unfolded to hex 
the theories of the great Edwards on the nature of 
true virtue. Womanlike, she felt the subtile poetry 
of these sublime abstractions which dealt with such 
infinite and unknown quantities, — which spoke of 
the universe, of its great Architect, of man, of an- 
gels, as matters of intimate and daily contempla- 
tion; and her teacher, a grand-minded and simple- 
hearted man as ever lived, was often amazed at 
the tread with which this fair young child walked 
through these high regions of abstract thought, — 
often comprehending through an ethereal clearness 
of nature what he had laboriously and heavily rea- 
soned out ; and sometimes, when she turned her 
grave, childlike face upon him with some question 
or reply, the good man started as if an angel had 
looked suddenly out upon him from a cloud. Un- 
consciously to himself, he often seemed to follow 
her, as Dante followed the flight of Beatrice, through 
the ascending circles of the celestial spheres. 

When her mother questioned him, anxiously, of 
her daughter’s spiritual estate, he answered, that she 
was a child of a strange graciousness of nature 
und of a singular genius ; to which Katy responded 
with a woman’s pride, that she was all her father 
over again. It is only now and then that a matter- 
of-fact woman is sublimated by a real love ; but if 
Bhe is, it is affecting to see how impossible it is fa 


THF MINISTER'S WOOING. 23 

death to quench it: for in the child the mother feels 
that she has a mysterious and undying repossession 
of the father. 

But, in truth, Mary was only a recast in feminine 
form of her father’s nature. The elixir of the spirit 
that sparkled within her was of that quality of 
which the souls of poets and artists are made ; but 
the keen New England air crystalizes emotions into 
ideas, and restricts many a poetic soul to the neces- 
sity of expressing itself only in practical living. 

The rigid theological discipline of New England 
is fitted to produce rather strength and purity than 
enjoyment. It was not fitted to make a sensitive 
and thoughtful nature happy, however it might en- 
noble and exalt. 

The system of Dr. Hopkins was one that could 
have had its origin in a soul at once reverential and 
logical — a soul, moreover, trained from its earliest 
years in the habits of thought engendered by mo- 
narchical institutions. For although he, like other 
ministers, took an active part as a patriot in the 
Revolution, still he was brought up under the 
shadow of a throne, and a man cannot ravel out 
the stitches in which early days have knit him. 
His theology was, in fact, the turning to an invisi- 
ble Sovereign of that spirit of royalty and unques- 
tioning subjugation which is one of the noblest ca- 
pabilities of our nature. And as a gallant soldier 
renounces life and personal aims in the cause of his 


24 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

king and countrv, and noias nimseif ready to bo 
drafted for a forlorn hope, to be shot down, or help 
make a bridge of his mangled body, over which the 
more fortunate shall pass to victory and glory, so he 
regarded himself as devoted to the King Eternal, 
ready in His hands to be used to illustrate and build 
up an Eternal Commonwealth, either by being sacri- 
ficed as a lost spirit or glorified as a redeemed one, 
ready to throw not merely his mortal life, but his im- 
mortality even, into the forlorn hope, to bridge with 
a never-dying soul the chasm over which white-robed 
victors should pass to a commonwealth of glory and 
splendor whose vastness should dwarf the misery of 
all the lost to an infinitesimal. 

It is not in our line to imply the truth or the false- 
hood of those systems of philosophic theology which 
seem for many years to have been the principal out- 
let for the proclivities of the New England mind, 
but as psychological developments they have an in- 
tense interest. He who does not see a grand side to 
these strivings of the soul cannot understand one of 
the noblest capabilities of humanity. 

No real artist or philosopher ever lived who has 
not at some hours risen to the height of utter self- 
abnegation for the glory of the invisible. There 
have been painters who would have been crucified 
to demonstrate the action of a muscle, — chemists 
who would gladly have melted themselves and all 
humanity in their crucible it bo a new discovery 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


25 


might a.-ise. out of its fumes. Even persons of mere 
artistic sensibility are at times raised by music, 
painting, or poetry to a momentary trance of self- 
oblivion, in which they would offer their whole being 
before the shrine of an invisible loveliness. These 
hard old New England divines were the poets of 
metaphysical philosophy, who built systems in an 
artistic fervor, and felt self exhale from beneath 
them as they rose into the higher regions of 
thought B^t where theorists and philosopher* 
tread with sublime assurance, woman often fol- 
lows with bleeding footsteps; — women are always 
turning from the abstract to the individual, and 
feeling where the philosopher only thinks. 

It was easy enough for Mary to believe in self- 
renunciation, for she was one with a born vocation 
for martyrdom ; and so, when the idea was put to 
her of suffering eternal pains for the glory of God 
and the good of being in general, she responded to 
it with a sort of sublime thrill,- such as it is given to 
some natures to feel in view of uttermost sacrifice. 
But when she looked around on the warm, living 
faces of friends, acquaintances and neighbors, view- 
ing them as possible candidates for dooms so fear- 
fully different, she sometimes felt the wa'ls of her 
faith closing round her as an iron shroud, — she 
wondered that the sun could shine so brightly, that 
lowers could flaunt such dazzling colors, that sweet 
airs could breathe, and little children play, and youth 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


£6 

love and hope, and a thousand intoxicating influ 
ences combine to cheat the victims from the though* 
that their next step might be into an abyss of hor- 
rors without end. The blood of youth and hope was 
saddened by this great sorrow, which lay ever on her 
heart, — and her life, unknown to herself, was a 
sweet tune in the minor key ; it was only in prayer, 
or deeds of love and charity, or in rapt contempla- 
tion of that beautiful millennial day, which her 
spiritual guide most delighted to speak of, that the 
tone of her feelings ever rose to the height of joy. 

Among Mary’s young associates was one who 
nad been as a brother to her childhood. He was 
her mother’s cousin’s son, — and so, by a sort oi 
family immunity, had always a free access to her 
mother’s house. He took to the sea, as the most 
bold and resolute young men will, and brought 
home from foreign parts those new modes of 
speech, those other eyes for received opinions and 
established things, which so often shock established 
prejudices, — so that he was held as little better 
than an infidel and a castaway by the stricter re- 
ligious circles in his native place. Mary’s mother, 
now that Mary was grown up to woman’s estate, 
looked with a severe eye on her cousin. She 
warned her daughter against too free an associa- 
tion with him, — and so We all know what 

comes to pass when girls are constantly warned 
not to think of a man. The most conscientious 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


*.! 

and obedient little person in the woild, Mary re- 
solved to be very careful. She never would think 
of James, except, of course, in her prayers ; but as 
these were constant, it may easily be seen it was 
not easy to forget him. 

All that was so often told he* of his carelessness, 
ais trifling, his contempt of orthodox opinions, and 
his startling and bold expressions, only wrote his 
name deeper in her heart, — for was not his soul in 
peril ? Could she look in his frank, joyous face and 
Listen to his thoughtless laugh, and then think that 
a fall from mast-head, or one night’s storm, might 

Ah, with what images her faith filled the blank ! 

Could she believe all this and forget him ? 

You see, instead of getting our tea ready, as we 
promised at the beginning of this chapter, we have 
filled it with descriptions and meditations, — and 
now we foresee that the next chapter will be equally 
far from the point. But have patience with us ; for 
we can write only as we are driven, and never know 
exactly where we are going to land. 


THE MINISTER’S VYOOINU 




CHAPTER HI 

THE INTERVIEW. 

A quiet, maiden-like place was Mary’s litti<a 
room. The window looked out under the over- 
arching boughs of a thick apple-orchard, now all 
in a blush with blossoms and pink-tipped buds, and 
the light came golden-green, strained through flicker- 
ing leaves, — and an ever-gentle rustle and whirr of 
branches and blossoms, a chitter of birds, and an 
indefinite whispering motion, as the long heads of 
orchard-grass nodded and bowed to each other under 
the trees, seemed to give the room the quiet hush of 
some little side-chapel in a cathedral, where green 
and golden glass softens the sunlight, and only the 
sigh and rustle of kneeling worshippers break the still- 
ness of the aisles. It was small enough for a nun’s 
apartment, and dainty in its neatness as the waxen 
cell of a bee. The bed and low window were 
draped in spotless white, with fringes of Mary’s own 
knotting. A small table under the looking-glass 
bore the library of a well-taught young woman of 
those times. “ The Spectator,” “ Paradise Lost,” 
Shakspear*s and “ Robinson Crusoe,” stood for the 


1 HIS MINISTER S WOOING. 


29 


admitted secular literature, and beside them the 
Bible and the works then published of Mr. Jona- 
than Edwards. Laid a little to one side as if of 
doubtful reputation, was the only novel which the 
stricter people in those days allowed for the read- 
ing of their daughters : that seven-volumed, trailing, 
tedious, delightful old bore, w Sir Charles Grandi- 
soll, / ‘ , — a book whose influence in those times was 
so universal, that it may be traced in the epistolary 
style even of the gravest divines. Our little heroine 
was mortal, with all her divinity, and had an imag- 
ination which sometimes wandered to the things of 
earth; and this glorious hero in lace and embroidery, 
who blended rank, gallantry, spirit, knowledge of the 
world, disinterestedness, constancy, and piety, some- 
times stepped before her, while she sat spinning a* 
her wheel, till she sighed, she hardly knew why, that 
no such men walked the earth now. Yet it is to be 
confessed, this occasional raid of the romantic into 
Mary’s balanced and well-ordered mind was soon 
energetically put to rout, and the book, as we have 
said, remained on her table under protest, — pro- 
tected by being her father’s gift to her mother during 
i heir days of courtship. The small looking-glass 
was curiously wreathed with corals and foreign 
shells, so disposed as to indicate an artistic eye and 
skilful hand; and some curious Chinese paintings 
of birds anl flowers gave rather a piquant and for- 
eign air to the otherwise homely neatness of th«* 
apartment 


50 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Here in this little retreat Mary spent those few 
hours which her exacting conscience would allow 
her to spare from her busy-fingered household-life 
here she read and wrote and thought and prayed 
— and here she stands now, arraying herself for the 
tea company that afternoon. Dress, which in our 
day is becoming in some cases the whole of wo- 
man, was in those times a remarkably simple affair 
True, every person of a certain degree of respecta- 
bility had state and festival robes ; and a certain 
camphor-wood brass-bound trunk, which was always 
kept solemnly locked in Mrs. Katy Scudder’s apart- 
ment, if it could have spoken, might have given off 
quite a catalogue of brocade satin and laces. The 
wedding-suit there slumbered in all the unsullied 
whiteness of its stiff ground broidered with heavy 
knots of flowers ; and there were scarfs of wrought 
India muslin and embroidered crape, each of which 
had its history, — for each had been brought into 
the door with beating heart on some return voyage 
of one who, alas, should return no more ! The old 
trunk stood with its- histories, its imprisoned remem- 
brances, — and a thousand tender thoughts seemed 
to be shaken out of every rustling fold of silk and 
embroidery, on the few yearly occasions when al_ 
were brought out to be aired, their history related 
and then solemnly locked up again. Nevertheless, 
the possession of these things gave to the women 
of an establishment a certain innate dignity, like 


THE MINIS WOOING. 


31 


jl nod conscience ; so that in that larger portion 
v r existence commonly denominated among them 
“every day,” they were content with plain stuff 
and homespun. Mary’s toilette, therefore, was 
sooner made than those of Newport belles of the 
present day ; it simply consisted in changing her ( 
iniinary “short gown and petticoat” for another 
Df somewhat nicer materials, — a skirt of India 
chintz and a striped jacconet short-gown. Her 
nair was of the kind which always lies like satin ; 
but, nevertheless, girls never think their toilette 
complete unless the smoothest hair has been shaken 
down and rearranged. A few moments, however, 
served to braid its shining folds and dispose them 
in their simple knot on the back of the head ; and 
having given a final stroke to each side with her 
little dimpled hands, she sat down a moment at 
the window, thoughtfully watching where the after- 
noon sun was creeping through the slats of the 
fence in long lines of gold among the tall, tremu- 
lous orchard-grass, and unconsciously she began 
warbling, in a low, gurgling voice, the words of a 
familiar hymn, whose grave earnestness accorded 
well with the general tone of her life and educa- 
tion : — 

“Life is the time to serve the Lord, 

The time to insure the great reward.” 

There was a swish and rustle in the orchard-grass, 
and a tramp of elastic steps ; then the branches 


ti 2 THE MINISli^R’S W001NU. 

were brushed aside, and a young man suddenly 
emerged from the trees a little behind Mary. He 
was apparently about twenty-five, dressed in the 
holiday rig of a sailor on shore, which well set off 
his fine athletic figure, and accorded with a sort 
of easy, dashing, and confident air which sat not 
unhandsomely on him. For the rest, a high fore- 
head shaded by rings of the blackest hair, a keen, 
dark eye, a firm and determined mouth, gave the 
impression of one who had engaged to do battle 
with life, not only with a will, but with shrewdness 
and ability. 

He introduced the colloquy by stepping delib- 
erately behind Mary, putting his arms round her 
neck, and kissing her. 

“ Why, James!” said Mary, starting up, and 
blushing. “ Come, now ! ” 

“ I have come, haven’t I ? ” said the young man, 
leaning his elbow on the window-seat and looking 
at her with an air of comic determined frankness, 
which yet had in it such wholesome honesty that 
t was scarcely possible to be angry. “ The fact is 
Mary,” he added, with a sudden earnest darkening 
of the face, “ I won’t stand this nonsense any 
longer. Aunt Katy has been holding me at arm’s 
length ever since I got home; and what have 1 
done ? Haven’t I been to every prayer-meeting 
and lecture and sermon, since I got into port, just 
as regular as a psalm-book ? and not a bit of a word 


1 11K MINISTER’S WOOING. 


31 


could 1 get with you. and no chance even so much 
as to give you my arm. Aunt Kate always comes 
between us and says, 4 Here, Mary, you take my 
arm/ What does she think I go to meeting for, • 
and almost break my jaws keeping down the gapes ? 

I never even go to sleep, and yet I’m treated in 
this way! It’s too bad! What’s the row ? What’s 
anybody been saying about me ? I always have 
waited on you ever since you were that high. 
Didn’t I always draw you to school on my sled ? 
didn’t we always use to do our sums together ? 
didn’t I always wait on you to singing-school ? 
and I’ve been made free to run in and out as if I 
were your brother ; — and now she is as glum and 
stiff, and always stays in the room every minute 
of the time that I am there, as if she was afraid 
I should be in some mischief. It’s too bad ! ” 

“ Oh, James, 1 am sorry that you only go tc 
meeting for the sake of seeing me ; you feel no 
real interest in religious things; and besides, moth- 
er thinks now I’m grown so old, that Why, 

you know things are different now, — at least, we 
mustn’t, you know, always do as we did when we 
were children. But I wish you did feel more in- 
terested in good things.” 

44 I am interested in one or two good things, 
Mary, — principally in you, who are the best I 
Enow of. Besides,” he said quickly, and scanning 

her face 'ttentively to see the effect of his wore : 3 
2* 


Si 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“don’t you think there is more merit in my sit- 
ting out all these meetings, when they bore ri-3 
so confoundedly, than there is in your and Aunt 
Katy’s doing it, who really seem to find some- 
thing to like in them ? I believe you have a sixtl 
6ense, quite unknown to me ; for it’s all a maze, 

— I can’t find top, nor bottom, nor side, nor up, 

nor down to it,— it’s you can and you can’t, you 
shall and you sha’n’t, you will and you won’t,” 

u James ! ” 

“ You needn’t look at me so. I’m not going to 
say the rest of it. But, seriously, it’s all anywhere 
and nowhere to me; it don’t touch me, it don’t 
help me, and I think it rather makes me worse ; 
and then they tell me it’s because I’m a natural 
man, and the natural man understandeth not the 
things of the Spirit. Well, I am a natural man, 

— how’s a fellow to help it ? ” 

“ Well, James, why need you talk everywhere 
as you do ? You joke, and jest, and trifle, till it 
seems to everybody that you don’t believe in any- 
thing. v I’m afraid mother thinks you are an infidel, 
but I know that can’t be ; yet we hear of all sorts 
of things that you say.” 

“ I suppose you mean my telling Deacon Twitch 
el that I had seen as good Christians among the 
Mahometans as any in Newport. Didn't I make 
him open his eyes ? It’s true, too ! ” 

“ In every nation, he that feareth God and work* 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


85 


eth righteousness is accepted of Him,” said Mary; 
rt and if there are better Christians than we are 
among the Mahometans, I am sure I’m glad of it. 
But, after all, the great question is, 4 Are we Chris- 
tians ourselves ? ’ Oh, James, if you only were a 
real, true, noble Christian ! ” 

“ Well, Mary, you have got into that harbor, 
through all the sandbars and rocks and crooked 
channels; and now do you think it right to leave 
a fellow beating about outside, and not go out to 
help him in ? This way of drawing up, among you 
good people, and leaving us sinners to ourselves, 
isn’t generous. You might care a little for the 
soul of an old friend, anyhow ! ” 

“ And don’t I care, James ? How many days 
and nights have been one prayer for you ! If I 
could take my hopes of heaven out of my own 
heart and give them to you, I would. Dr. Hop- 
kins preached last Sunday on the text, 1 1 could 
wish myself accursed from Christ for my brethren, 
my kinsmen’; and he went on to show how we 
must be willing to give up even our own salva- 
tion, if necessary, for the good of others. People 
said it was hard doctrine, but I could feel my 
way through it very well. Yes, I would give iry 
soul for yours; I wish I could.” 

There was a solemnity and pathos in Mary’s 
manner which checked the conversation. James 
jvas the more touched because he felt it all so real 


56 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


from one whose words were always yea and nay 
bo true, so inflexibly simple. Her eyes filled with 
tears, her face kindled with a sad earnestness, ana 
James thought, as he looked, of a picture he 
had once seen in a European cathedral, where 
the youthful Mother of Sorrows is represented, 

“ Radiant and grave, as pitying man’s decline ; 

All youth, but with an aspect beyond time ; 

Mournful, but mournful of another’s crime ; 

She looked as if she sat by Eden’s door, 

And grieved for those who should return no more.” 

James had thought he loved Mary; he had ad- 
mired her remarkable beauty, he had been proud 
of a certain right in her before that of other young 
men, her associates ; he had thought of her as the 
keeper of his home ; he had wished to appropriate 
her wholly to himself ; — but in all this there had 
been, after all, only the thought of what she was 
to be to him; and, for this poor measure of what 
he called love, she was ready to offer, an infinite 
sacrifice. 

As a subtile flash of lightning will show in a 
moment a whole landscape, tower, town, winding 
stream, and distant sea, so that one subtile ray of 
feeling seemed in a moment to reveal to James 
the whole of his past life ; and it seemed to him 
so poor, so meagre, so shallow, by the side of that 
childlike woman, to whom the noblest of feelings 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


87 


were unconscious matters of course, that a sort of 
awe awoke in him ; like the Apostles of old, he 
■ l feared as he entered into the cloud ” ; it seemed 
as if the deepest string of some eternal sorrow had 
vibrated between them. 

After a moment’s pause, he spoke in a low and 
altered voice: — 

“ Mary, I am a sinner. No psalm or sermon 
e\er taught it to me, but I see it now. Your 
mother is quite right, Mary ; you are too good for 
me ; I am no mate for you. Oh, what would you 
think of me, if you knew me wholly ? I have 
lived a mean, miserable, shallow, unworthy life. 
You are worthy, you are a saint, and walk in 
white ! Oh, what upon earth could ever make you 
care so much for me ? ” 

“Well, then, James, you will be good? Won’t 
you talk with Dr. Hopkins ? ” 

“ Hang Dr. Hopkins ! ” said James. “ Now, Mary, 
I beg your pardon, but I can’t make head or tail 
of a word Dr. Hopkins says. I don’t get hold of it, 
or know what he would be at. You girls and wom- 
en don’t know your power. Why, Mary, you are 
a living gospel. You have always had a strange 
power over us boys. You never talked religion 
much, but I have seen high fellows come away 
from being with you as still and quiet as one feels 
when one goes into a church. I can’t understand 
all the hang of predestination, and moral ability 


38 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


and natural ability, and God’s efficiency, and man i 
agency, which Dr. Hopkins is so engaged about; but 
I can understand you, — you can do me good!” 

“ Oh, James, can I ? ” 

“ Mary, I’m going to confess my sins. I saw, 
that, somehow or other, the wind was against me 
in Aunt Katy’s quarter, and you know we fellows 
who take up the world in both fists don’t like to 
be beat. If there’s opposition, it sets us on. Now 
I confess I never did care much about religion, 
but I thought, without being really a hypocrite, 
I’d just let you try to save my soul for the sake 
of getting you; for there’s nothing surer to hook 
a woman than trying to save a fellow’s soul. It’s 
a dead-shot, generally, that. Now our ship sails 
to-night, and I thought I’d just come across this 
path in the orchard to speak to you. You know 
I used always to bring you peaches and j uneatings 
across this way, and once I brought you a rib- 
bon.” 

“ Yes, I’ve got it yet, James.” 

u Well, now, Mary, all this seems mean to me, 
— mean, to try and trick and snare you, who are 
bo much too good for me. I felt very proud this 
morning that I was to go out first mate this time, 
and that I should command a ship next voyage. 
I meant to have asked you for a promise, but I 
don’t. Only, Mary, just give me your little Bible, 
and I’ll promise to read it all through soberly, ana 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


39 


see what it all comes to. And pray for me ; and 
if, while Pm gone, a good man comes who loves 
you, and is worthy of you, why, take him, Mary, 
— that’s my advice.” 

“James, I am not thinking of any such things; 
£ don’t ever mean to be married. And Pm glad 
you don’t ask me for any promise, — because it 
would be wrong to give it; mother doesn’t even 
like me to be much with you. But Pm sure all 
I have said to you to-day is right ; I shall tell hei 
exactly all I have said.” 

“ If Aunt Katy knew what things we fellows are 
pitched into, who take the world headforemost, she 
wouldn’t be so selfish. Mary, you girls and women 
don’t know the world you live in ; you ought to be 
pure and good ; you are not tempted as we are. You 
don’t know what men, what women, — no, they’re 
not women! — what creatures, beset us in every 
foreign port, and boarding-houses that are gates 
of hell ; and then, if a fellow comes back from aL 
this and don’t walk exactly straight, you just draw 
up the hems of your garments and stand close t< 
the wall, for fear he should touch you when he 
passes. I don’t mean you, Mary, for you are dif- 
ferent from most; but if you would do what you 
could, you might save us. — But it’s no use talk- 
ing, Mary. Give me the Bible ; and please be kind 
to my dove, — for I had a hard time getting him 
across the water, and I don’t want him to di*.” 


40 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING*. 


If Mary had spoken all that welled up in life! 
ittle heart at that moment, she might have said 
toi much ; but duty had its habitual seal upon her 
lips. She took the little Bible from her table and 
gave it with a trembling hand, and James turned 
to go. In a moment he turned back, and stood 
irresolute. 

“ Mary,” he said, “ we are cousins ; I may never 
come back ; you might kiss me this once.” 

The kiss was given and received in silence, and 
James disappeared among the thick trees. 

“ Come, child,” said Aunt Katy, looking in, “ there 
is Deacon TwitchePs chaise in sight, — are yoi 
ready?” 

u Yes, mother.” 



THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


41 


CHAPTER IV. 

THEOLOGICAL TEA. 

At the call of her mother, Mary hurried into 
th i w best room,” with a strange discomposure of 
Bpirit she had never felt before. From childhood, 
her love for James had been so deep, equable, and 
intense, that it had never disturbed her with thrills 
and yearnings; it had grown up in sisterly calm- 
ness, and, quietly expanding, had taken possession 
of her whole nature, without her once dreaming 
of its power. But this last interview seemed to 
have struck some great nerve of her being, — and 
calm as she usually was, from habit, principle, and 
good health, she shivered and trembled, as she 
heard his retreating footsteps, and saw the orchard- 
grass fly back from under his feet. It was as if 
each step trod on a nerve, — as if the very sound 
of the rustling grass was stirring something living 
and sensitive in her soul. And, strangest of all, a 
vague impression of guilt hovered over her. Had 
*he done anything wrong? She did not ask him 
there; she had not spoken love to him no. sho 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


42 

had only talked to him of his soul, and how she 
would give hers for his, — oh, so willingly! — and 
that was not love; it was only what Dr. HopKins 
said Christians must always feel. 

“ Child, what have you been doing ? ” said Aunt 
Katy, who sat in full flowing chintz petticoat and 
spotless dimity short-gown, with her company knit- 
ting-work in her hands ; “ your cheeks are as red 
as peonies. Have you been crying? What’s the 
matter ? ” 

M There is the Deacon’s wife, mother,” said Mary 
turning confusedly, and darting to the entry-door. 

Enter Mrs. Twitchel, — a soft, pillowy little el- 
derly lady, whose whole air and dress reminded 
one of a sack of feathers tied in the middle with 
a string. A large, comfortable pocket, hung upon 
the side, disclosed her knitting-work ready for oper- 
ation ; and she zealously cleansed herself with a 
checked handkerchief from the dust which had 
accumulated during her ride in the old “ one-hoss 
shay,” answering the hospitable salutation of Katy 
Scudder in that plaintive, motherly voice which 
belongs to certain nice old ladies, who appear to 
Live in a state of mild chronic compassion for the 
sins and sorrows of this mortal life generally. 

“ Why, yes, Miss Scudder, I’m pretty tol’able. 
I keep goin’, and goin’. That’s my way. I’s 
a-tellin’ the Deacon, this mornin’, I didn’t see how 
I vjas to come here this afternoon ; but then I did 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


44 


want to see Miss Scudder and talk a little abou 
that precious sermon, Sunday. How is the D< > 
tor ? blessed man ! Well, his reward must be great 
in heaven, if not on earth, as I was a-tellin’ the 
Deacon ; and he says to me, says he, ‘ Polly, we 
mustn’t be man- worshippers.’ There, dear,” (to 
Mary,) u don’t trouble yourself about my bonnet , 
it a’n’t my Sunday one, but I thought ’twould do. 
Says I to Cerinthy Ann, ‘ Miss Scudder won’t 
mind, ’cause her heart’s set on better things.’ I 
always like to drop a word in season to Cerinthy 
Ann, ’cause she’s clean took up with vanity and 
dress. Oh, dear! oh, dear me! so different from 
your blessed daughter, Miss Scudder! Well, it’s 
a great blessin’ to be called in one’s youth, like 
Samuel and Timothy ; but then we doesn’t know 
the Lord’s ways. Sometimes I gets clean discour- 
aged with my children, — but then ag’in I don’t 
know ; none on us does. Cerinthy Ann is one of 
the most master hands to turn off work ; she takes 
hold and goes along like a woman, and nobody 
never knows when that gal finds the time to do 
all she does do ; and I don’t know nothin’ what 
1 should do without her. Deacon was saying, if 
ever she was called, she’d be a Martha, and not a 
Mary ; but then she’s dreadful opposed to the doc- 
trines, Oh, dear me ! oh, dear me. Somehow they 
seem to rile her all up ; and she was a-tellin’ me 
yesterday, when she was a-hangin’ out clothes, that 


44 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


ahe never should get reconciled to Decrees and 
Lection, ’cause she can’t see, if things is certain, 
how folks is to help ’emselves. Says I, ‘ Cerinthy 
Ann, folks a’n’t to help themselves ; they’s to sub- 
mit unconditional.’ And she jest slammed down 
the clothes-basket and went into the house.” 

When Mrs. Twitchel began to talk, it flowed a 
steady stream, as when one turns a faucet, that 
never ceases running till some hand turns it back 
again ; and the occasion that cut the flood short 
at present was the entrance of Mrs. Brown. 

Mr. Simeon Brown was a thriving ship-owner of 
Newport, who lived in a large house, owned several 
negro-servants and a span of horses, and affected 
some state and style in his worldly appearance. 
A passion for metaphysical Orthodoxy had drawn 
Simeon to the congregation of Dr. Hopkins, and 
his wife of course stood by right in a high place 
there. She was a tall, angular, somewhat hard- 
favored body, dressed in a style rather above the 
simple habits of her neighbors, and her whole aii 
spoke the great woman, who in right of her thou- 
sands expected to have her say in all that was 
going on in the world, whether she understood it 
or not. 

On her entrance, mild little Mrs. Twitchel fled 
from the cushioned rocking-chair, and stood with 
the quivering air of one who feels she has no bus* 
iness to be anywhere in the world, until Mrs 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


45 


Brown’s bonnet was taken and she was seated, 
when Mrs. Twitchel subsided into a corner and 
rattled her knitting-needles to conceal her emotion. 

New England has been called the land of equal- 
ity ; but what land upon earth is wholly so ? Even 
fhe mites in a bit of cheese, naturalists say, have 
great tumblings and strivings about position and 
rank ; he who has ten pounds will always be a 
nobleman to him who has but one, let him strive 
as manfully as he may ; and therefore let us for* 
give meek little Mrs. Twitchel for melting into 
nothing in her own eyes when Mrs. Brown came 
in, and let us forgive Mrs. Brown that she sat 
down in the rocking-chair with an easy grandeur, 
as one who thought it her duty to be affable and 
meaut to be. It was, however, rather difficult for 
Mrs. Brown, with her money, house, negroes, and 
all, to patronize Mrs. Katy Scudder, who was one 
of those women whose natures seem to sit on 
thrones, and who dispense patronage and favor by 
an inborn right and aptitude, whatever be their 
social advantages. It was one of Mrs. Brown’s 
trials of life, this secret, strange quality in her 
neighbor, who stood apparently so far below her 
in worldly goods. Even the quiet, positive style 
of Mrs. Katy’s knitting made her nervous; it was 
an implication of independence of her sway; and 
though on the present occasion every customary 
courtesy was bestowed, she still felt, as she always 


46 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

did when Mrs. Katy’s guest, a secret uneasiness 
She mentally contrasted the neat little parlor, with 
its white sanded floor and muslin curtains, with 
her own grand front-room, which boasted the then 
uncommon luxuries of Turkey carpet and Persian 
rug, and wondered if Mrs. Katy did really feel as 
cool and easy in receiving her as she appeared. 

You must not understand that this was what 
Mrs. Brown supposed herself to be thinking about ; 
oh, no! by no means! All the little, mean work 
of our nature is generally done in a small dark 
closet just a little back of the subject we are 
talking about, on which subject we suppose our- 
selves of course to be thinking; — of course we 
are thinking of it; how else could we talk about 
it? 

The subject in discussion, and what Mrs. Brown 
supposed to be in her own thoughts, was the last 
Sunday’s sermon on the doctrine of entire Disin- 
terested Benevolence, in which good Doctor Hop- 
kins had proclaimed to the citizens of Newport 
their duty of being so wholly absorbed in the gen- 
eral good of the universe as even to acquiesce in 
their own final and eternal destruction, if the 
greater good of the whole might thereby be accom- 
plished. 

“Well, now, dear me!” said Mrs. Twitchel 
while her knitting-needles trotted contentedly to 
the mournful tone of her voice, — “ I was ^ellin 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


47 


the Deacon, if we only could get there! Some- 
times 1 mink I get a little way, — but then ag’in 
I don’t know ; but the Deacon he’s quite down, — 
he don’t see no evidences in himself. Sometimes 
he says he don’t feel as if he ought to keep his 
place in the church, — but then ag’in he don’t know. 
He keeps a-turnin’ and turnin’ on’t over in his 
mind, and a-tryin’ himself this way and that way ; 
and he says he don’t see nothin’ but what’s selfish, 
no way. 

“ ’Member one night last winter, after the Dea- 
con got warm in bed, there come a rap at the 
door ; and who should it be but old Beulah Ward, 
wantin’ to see the Deacon ? — ’twas her boy she sent, 
and he said Beulah was sick and hadn’t no more 
wood nor candles. Now I know’d the Deacon had 
carried that crittur half a cord of wood, if he had 
one stick, since Thanksgivin’, and I’d sent her two 
o’ my best moulds of candles, — nice ones that 
Cerinthy Ann run when we killed a crittur; but 
nothin’ would do but the Deacon must get right 
iut his warm bed and dress himself, and hitch up 
his team to carry over some wood to Beulah. 
Says I, ‘ Father, you know you’ll be down with 
the rheumatis for this ; besides, Beulah is real 
aggravatin’. I know she trades off what we send 
her to the store for rum, and you never get no 
thanks. She expects, ’cause we has done for her 
we always must; and more we do more we may 


48 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


do.’ And says he to me, says he, 4 That’s jest the 
way we sarves the Lord, Polly ; and what if He 
shouldn’t hear us when we call on Him in ouf 
troubles ? ’ So I shet up ; and the next day he 
was down with the rheumatis. And Cerinthy Ann, 
gays she, 4 Well, father, now I hope you’ll own 
you have got some disinterested benevolence,’ says 
she; and the Deacon he thought it over a spell, 
and then he says, 4 Pm ’fraid it’s all selfish. Pm 
jest a-makin’ a righteousness of it.’ And Cerinthy 
Ann she come out, declarin’ that the best folks 
never had no comfort in religion ; and for her part 
she didn’t mean to trouble her head about it, but 
have jest as good a time as she could while she’s 
young, ’cause if she was ’lected to be saved she 
should be, and if she wa’n’t she couldn’t help it, 
any how.” 

44 Mr. Brown says he came on to Dr. Hopkins’s 
ground years ago,” said Mrs. Brown, giving a ner- 
vous twitch to her yarn, and speaking in a sharp, 
hard, didatic voice, which made little Mrs. Twitch el 
give a gentle quiver, and look humble and apolo- 
getic. 44 Mr. Brown’s a master thinker ; there’s 
nothing pleases that man better than a hard doc- 
trine ; he says you can’t get ’em too hard for him. 
He don’t find any difficulty in bringing his mind 
up; he just reasons it out all plain; and he says, 
people have no need to be in the dark ; and that’s 
my opinion. 4 If folks know they ought to come 


HIE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 43 

ap to anything, why don't they '! ’ he says ; and 1 
say so too.” 

i% Mr. Scuider used to say that it took great 
afflictions to bring his mind to that place,” said 
Mrs. Katy. “ He used to say that an old paper- 
maker told him once, that paper that was shaken 
only one way in the making would tear across the 
olher, and the best paper had to be shaken every 
way; a d so he said we couldn’t tell, till we had 
been turned and shaken and tried every way, 
where we should tear.” 

Mrs. Twitchel responded to this sentiment with 
a gentle series of groans, such as were her general 
expression of approbation, swaying herself back- 
ward and forward ; while Mrs. Brown gave a sort 
of toss and snort, and said that for her part she 
always thought people knew what they did know, 
— but she guessed she was mistaken. 

The conversation was here interrupted by the 
civilities attendant on the reception of Mrs. Jones, 
— a broad, buxom, hearty soul, who had come on 
horseback from a farm about three miles distant. 

Smiling with rosy content, she presented Mrs. 
Katy a small pot of golden butter, — the result of 
*er forenoon’s churning. 

There are some people so evidently broadly and 
heartily of this world, that their coming into a 
room always materializes the conversation We 
wish to be understood that we mean no dispar- 


3 


no 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


aging reflection on such persons; — they are as 
necessary to make up a world as cabbages to make 
up a garden; the great healthy principles of cheer- 
fulness and animal life seem to exist in them in 
the gross ; they are wedges and ingots of solid, 
contented vitality. Certain kinds of virtues and 
Christian graces thrive in such people as the first 
crop of corn does in the bottom-lands of the Ohio 
Mrs. Jones was a church-member, a regular church- 
goer, and planted her comely person plump in 
front of Dr. Hopkins every Sunday, and listened 
to his searching and discriminating sermons with 
broad, honest smiles of satisfaction. Those keen 
distinctions as to motives, those awful warnings 
and urgent expostulations, which made poor Dea- 
con Twitchel weep, she listened to with great, 
round, satisfied eyes, making to all, and after all, 
the same remark, — that it was good, and she liked 
it, and the Doctor was a good man ; and on the 
present occasion, she announced her pot of butter 
as one fruit of her reflections after the last dis- 
course. 

“ You see,” she said, “ as I was a-settin’ in the 
spring-house, this mornin’, a-workin’ my butter, I 
says to Dinah , — ‘ I’m goin’ to carry a pot of this 
down to Miss Scudder for the Doctor, — I got so 
much good out of his Sunday’s sermon,’ And 
Dinah she says to me, says she , — 1 Laws, Miss 
Jones, I thought you was asleep, for sartin f 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINtt. 


51 


But I wasn’t; only 1 forgot to take any caraway- 
seed in the morning and so I kinder missed it; 
you know it ’livens one up. But I never lost 
myself so but what I kinder heerd him goin’ on, 
on, sort o’ like, — and it sounded all sort o’ good ; 
and so I thought of the Doctor to-day.” 

“ Well, I’m sure,” said Aunt Katy, “ this will be 
a treat ; we all know about your butter, Mrs. Jones. 
I sha’n’t think of putting any of mine on table 
to-night, I’m sure.” 

“ Law, now don’t ! ” said Mrs. Jones. “ Why 
you re’lly make me ashamed, Miss Scudder. To 
be sure, folks does like our butter, and it always 
fetches a pretty good price, — he's very proud on’t. 
I tell him he oughtn’t to be, — we oughtn’t to be 
proud of anything.” 

And now Mrs. Katy, giving a look at the old 
clock, told Mary it was time to set the tea-table; 
and forthwith there was a gentle movement of 
expectancy. The little mahogany tea-table opened 
its brown wings, and from a drawer came forth 
the snowy damask covering. It was etiquette, on 
■such occasions, to compliment every article of the 
establishment successively, as it appeared; so the 
Deacon’s wife began at the table-cloth. 

“ Well, I do declare, Miss Scudder beats us a I 
in her table-cloths,” she said, taking up a cornei 
of the damask, admiringly; and Mrs. Jones forth 
with jumped up and seized the other corner. 


>2 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


k Why, this ’ere must have come from :he Old 
Country. It’s ’most the beautiflest thing I ever 
did see.” 

“ It’s my own spinning,” replied Mrs. Katy, with 
conscious dignity. “ There was an Irish weaver 
came to Newport the year before I was married, 
who wove beautifully, — just the Old- Country pat- 
terns, — and I’d been spinning some uncommonly 
fine llax then. I remember Mr. Scudder used to 
read to me while I was spinning,” — and Aunt 
Katy looked afar, as one whose thoughts are in 
the past, and dropped out the last words with a 
little sigh, unconsciously, as if speaking to herself. 

“ Well, now, I must say,” said Mrs. Jones, “ this 
goes quite beyond me. I thought I could spin 
some; but 1 sha’n’t never dare to show mine.” 

“ I’m sure, Mrs. Jones, your towels that you had 
out bleaching, this spring, were wonderful,” said 
Aunt Katy. “ But I don’t pretend to do much 
now,” she continued, straightening her trim figure. 
4 I’m getting old, you know ; we must let the 
young folks take up these things. Mary spins 
better now than I ever did. Mary, hand out those 
•lapkins.” 

And so Mary’s napkins passed from hand to 
hand. 

“ Well, well,” said Mrs. Twitchel to Mary, “it’s 
easy to see that your linen-chest will be pretty fu] 
by the time he comes along; won’t it, Miss .Tones? 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


58 


»— and Mis. Twitchel looked pleasantly facetious, 
as elderly ladies generally do, when suggesting 
such possibilities to younger ones. 

Mary was vexed to feel the blood boil up in 
her cheeks in a most unexpected and provoking 
way at the suggestion ; whereat Mrs. Twitchel 
nodded knowingly at Mrs. Jones, and whispered 
something in a mysterious aside, to which plump 
Mrs. Jones answered, — “ Why, do tell ! now I 
never ! ” 

“ It’s strange,” said Mrs. Twitchel, taking up hei 
parable again, in such a plaintive tone that all 
knew something pathetic was coming, “what mis- 
takes some folks will make, a-fetchin’ up girls. 
Now there’s your Mary, Miss Scudder, — why, there 
a’n’t nothin’ she can’t do ; but law, I was down to 
Miss Skinner’s, last week, a-watchin’ with her, and 
re’lly it ’most broke my heart to see her. Her 
mother was a most amazin’ smart woman ; but 
she brought Suky up, for all the world, as if she’d 
been a wax doll, to be kept in the drawer, — and 
sure enough, she was a pretty creetur, — and now 
she’s married, what is she? She ha’n’t no more 
idee how to take hold than nothin’. The pool 
child means well enough, and she works so hard 
she most kills herself; but then she is in the suds 
from mornin’ till night, — she’s one the sort whose 
work’s never done, — and poor George Skill net ’4 
H^an discouraged* 


M THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

“ There’s everything in knowing how” said Mrs 
Katy. “ Nobody ought to be always working ; it’s 
a bad sign. I tell Mary , — 1 Always do up your 
work in the forenoon.’ Girls must learn that. I 
never work afternoons, after my dinner-dishes are 
got away; I never did and never would.” 

u Nor I, neither,” chimed in Mrs. Jones and Mis. 
Twitchel, — both anxious to show themselves clear 
on this leading point of New England housekeep- 
ing. 

“ There’s another thing I always tell Mary,” said 
Mrs. Katy, impressively. “ 6 Never say there isn’t 
time for a thing that ought to be done. If a thing 
is necessary , why, life is long enough to find a 
place for it. That’s my doctrine. When anybody 
tells me they can’t find time for this or that, I 
don’t think much of ’em. I think they don’t know 
how to work, — that’s all.’ ” 

Here Mrs. Twitchel looked up from her knitting, 
with an apologetic giggle, at Mrs. Brown. 

u Law, now, there’s Miss Brown, she don’t know 
nothin’ about it, ’cause she’s got her servants to 
every turn. I s’pose she thinks it queer to hear 
us talkin’ about our work. Miss Brown must have 
her time all to he -self. I was tellin’ the Beacon 
the other day that she was a privileged woman” 
u I’m sure, those that have servants find work 
enough following ’em ’round,” said Mrs. Brown,— 
who, like all other human beings, resented the 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


55 


implication of not having as many trials in life as 
her neighbors. “ As to getting the work done up 
in the forenoon, that’s a thing I never can teach 
’em ; they’d lather not. Chloe likes to keep her 
work ’round, and do it by snacks, any time, day 
or night, when the notion takes her.” 

tl And it was just for that reason I never would 
have one of those creatures ’round,” said ]\Irs. 
Katy. “ Mr. Scudder was principled against buy- 
ing negroes, — but if he had not been, I should not 
have wanted any of their work. I know what’s 
to be done, and most help is no help to me. 1 
want people to stand out of my way and let me 
get done. I’ve tried keeping a girl once or twice, 
and I never worked so hard in my life. When 
Mary and I do all ourselves, we can calculate every- 
thing to a minute ; and we get our time to sew 
and read and spin and visit, and live just as we 
want to.” 

Here, again, Mrs. Brown looked uneasy. To 
what use was it that she was rich and owned 
servants, when this Mordecai in her gate utterly 
despised her prosperity? In her secret heart she 
thought Mrs. Katy must be envious, and rather 
comforted herself on this view of the subject,— 
sweetly unconscious of any inconsistency in the 
feeling with her views of utter self-abnegation just 
announced. 

Meanwhile the tea-table had been silently gatb 


56 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ering on its snowy plateau the delicate china, thd 
golden butter, the loaf of faultless cake, a plate of 
crullers or wonders, as a sort of sweet fried 3ake 
was commonly called, — tea-rusks, light as a puff, 
and shining on top with a varnish of egg, — jellies 
of apple and quince quivering in amber clearness, 
— whitest and purest honey in the comb, — in short, 
everything that could go to the getting up uf a 
most faultless tea. 

u I don’t see,” said Mrs. Jones, resuming the 
gentle paeans of the occasion, u how Miss Scudder’s 
loaf-cake always comes out jest so. It don’t rise 
neither to one side nor t’other, but jest even all 
’round ; and it a’n’t white one side and burnt the 
other, but jest a good brown all over ; and it don’t 
have no heavy streak in it.” 

“Jest what Cerinthy Ann was sayin’, the other 
day,” said Mrs. Twitchel. “ She says she can’t 
never be sure how hers is a-comin’ out. Do what 
she can, it will be either too much or too little 
but Miss Scudder’s is always jest so. 4 Law,’ says 
l, 4 Cerinthy Ann, it’s faculty , — that’s it; — them 
that has it has it, and them that hasn’t — why 
they’ve got to work hard, and not do half so well 
neither.’ ” 

Mrs. Katy took all these praises as matter of 
course. Since she was thirteen years old, she had 
never put her hand to anything that she had no 4 
been held to do better than other folks arr 1 there- 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


57 


fore she accepted her praises with the quiet repose 
and serenity of assured reputation; though, of course, 
she used the usual polite disclaimers of “ Oh, it’s 
nothing, nothing at all ; I’m sure I don’t know how 
I do it, and was not aware it was so good,” — and 
so on. All which things are proper for gentle* 
women to observe in like cases, in every walk of 
life. 

u Do you think the Deacon will be along soon ? 
said Mrs. Katy, when Mary, returning from the 
kitchen, announced the important fact, that the 
tea-kettle was boiling. 

“ Why, yes,” said Mrs. Twitchei. “ I’m a-lookin’ 
for him every minute. He told me, that he and 
the men should be plantin’ up to the eight-acre 
lot, but he’d keep the colt up there to come down 
on; and so I laid him out a clean shirt, and says 
I, 4 Now, Father, you be sure and be there by five, 
so that Miss Scudder may know when to put her 
tea a-drawin’.’ — There he is, I believe,” she added, 
as a horse’s tramp was heard without, and, after 
a few moments, the desired Deacon entered. 

He was a gentle, soft-spoken man, low, sinewy 
thin, with black hair showing lines and patches of 
silver. His keen, thoughtful, dark eye marked the 
nervous and melancholic temperament. A mild and 
pensive humility of manner seemed to brood over 
him, like the shadow of a cloud. Everything in 
his dress, air, and motions indicated punctilious 


58 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


exactness and accuracy, at times rising to the point 
of nervous anxiety. 

Immediately after the bustle of his entrance had 
subsided, Mr. Simeon Brown followed. He was a 
tall, lank individual, with high cheek-bones, thin, 
sharp features, small, keen, hard eyes, and large 
hands arid feet. 

Simeon was, as we have before remarked, a 
keen theologian, and had the scent of a hound for 
a metaphysical distinction. True, he was a man 
of business, being a thriving trader to the coast 
of Africa, whence he imported negroes for the 
American market ; and no man was held to un- 
derstand that branch of traffic better, — he having, 
in his earlier days, commanded ships in the busi- 
ness, and thus learned it from the root. In his 
private life, Simeon was severe and dictatorial. 
He was one of that class of people who, of a 
freezing day, will plant themselves directly between 
you and the fire, and there stand and argue to 
prove that selfishness is the root of all moral evil. 
Simeon said he always had thought so; and hiss 
neighbors sometimes supposed that nobody could 
enjoy better experimental advantages for under- 
standing the subject. He was one of those men 
who suppose themselves submissive to the Divine 
will, to the uttermost extent demanded by the 
extreme theology of that day, simply because they 
have no nerves to feel, no imagination to conceive 


1 HE MINISTER’S WOOING 59 

what endless happiness or suffering is, and who 
deal therefore with the great question of the sal- 
vation or damnation of myriads as a problem of 
theological algebra, to be worked out by their in- 
evitable x, y , 2 

But we must not spend too much time with oiu 
analysis of character, for matters at the tea-table 
are drawing to a crisis. Mrs. Jones has announced 
that she does not think u he ” can come this after- 
noon, by which significant mode of expression she 
conveyed the dutiful idea that there was for hei 
but on 3 male person in the world. And now Mrs. 
Katy says, “ Mary, dear, knock at the Doctor’s 
door and tell him that tea is ready.” 

The Doctor was sitting in his shady study, in 
the room on the other side of the little entry. 
The windows were dark and fragrant with the 
shade and perfume of blossoming lilacs, whose 
tremulous shadow, mingled with spots of afternoon 
sunlight, danced on the scattered papers of a great 
writing-table covered with pamphlets and heavily- 
bound volumes of theology, where the Doctor was 
sitting. 

A man of gigantic proportions, over six feet in 
height, and built every way with an amplitude 
corresponding to his height, he bent over his writ- 
ing, so absorbed that he did not hear the genth 
sound of Mary’s entrance. 

“ Doctor ” said the maiden, gently, “ tea is ready. 


50 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


No motion, no sound, except the quick racing 
of the pen over the paper. 

“Doctor! Doctor!” — a little louder, and with 
another step into the apartment, — “tea is ready.” 

The Doctor stretched his head forward to a paper 
which lay before him, and responded in a low 
murmuring voice, as reading something. 

“Firstly, — if underived virtue be peculiar to the 
Deity, can it be the duty of a creature to have 
it?” 

Here a little waxen hand came with a very 
gentle tap on his huge shoulder, and “ Doct n*, tea 
is ready,” penetrated drowsily to the nerve of his 
ear, as a sound heard in sleep. He rose suddenly 
with a start, opened a pair of great blue eyes 
which shone abstractedly under the dome of a 
capacious and lofty forehead, and fixed them on 
the maiden, who by this time was looking up 
rather archly, and yet with an attitude of the most 
profound respect, while her venerated friend was 
assembling together his earthly faculties. 

“ Tea is ready, if you please. Mother wished 
me to call you.” 

“ Oh ! — ah ! — yes ! — indeed ! ” he said, looking 
confusedly about, and starting for the door, in his 
study-gown. 

“ If you please, Sir,” said Mary, standing in his 
way, “ would you not like to put on your c 
and wig ? ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


61 


The Doctor gave a hurried glance at his study* 
gown, put his hand to his head, which, in place 
of the ample curls of his full-bottomed wig, was 
decked only with a very ordinary cap, and seemed 
to come at once to full comprehension. He smiled 
a kind of conscious, benignant smile, which adorned 
his high cheek-bones and hard features as sunshine 
adorns the side of a rock, and said, kindly, “ Ah, 
well, child, I understand now; I’ll be out in a 
moment.” 

And Mary, sure that he was now on the right 
track, went back to the tea-room with the an- 
nouncement that the Doctor was coming. 

In a few morne-' ts he entered, majestic and 
proper, in all the dignity of full-bottomed, pow- 
dered wig, full, flowing coat, with ample cuffs, sil- 
ver knee- and shoe-buckles, as became the gravity 
and majesty of the minister of those days. 

He saluted all the company with a benignity 
which had a touch of the majestic, and also of 
the rustic in it; for at heart the Doctor was a 
bashful man, — that is, he had somewhere in his 
mental camp that treacherous fellow whom John 
Bunyan anathematizes under the name of Shame, 
The company rose on his entrance; the men bowed 
and the women curtsied, and all remained stand- 
ing while he addressed to each with punctilious 
decorum those inquiries in regard to health and 
well-being which preface a social in erview. Then, 


82 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


at a dignified sign from Mrs. Katy, he advanced 
to the table, and, all following his example, stood, 
while, with one hand uplifted, he went through a 
devotional exercise which, for length, more resem- 
bled a prayer than a grace, — after which the com- 
pany were seated. 

“ Well, Doctor,” said Mr. Brown, who, as a 
householder of substance, felt a conscious right to 
be first to open conversation with the minister 
u people are beginning to make a noise about your 
views. I was talking with Deacon Timmins the 
other day down on the wharf, and he said Dr. 
Stiles said that it was entirely new doctrine, — 
entirely so, — and for his part he wanted the good 
old ways.” 

“ They say so, do they ? ” said the Doctor, kind- 
ling up from an abstraction into which he seemed 
to be gradually subsiding. “ Well, let them. I 
had rather publish new divinity than any other, 
and the more of it the better, — if it be but true, 
I should think it hardly worth while to write, if 1 
had nothing new to say.” 

“ Well,” said Deacon Twitchel, — his meek lace 
flushing with awe of his minister, — “ Doctor, there’s 
all sorts of things said about you. Now the other 
day J was at the mill with a load of corn, and 
while I was a- waitin’, Amariah Wadsworth came 
along with his’n ; and so while we were waitin’ 
he says to me, ‘ Why they say your minister is 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


6a 


gettin’ to be an Armenian ’ ; and he went on 
a-tellin’ how old Ma’am Badger told him that 
you interpreted some parts of Paul’s Epistles clear 
on the Arminian side. You know Ma’am Bad- 
ger’s a master-hand at doctrines, and she’s ’most 
an uncommon Calvinist.” 

u That does not frighten me at all,” said the 
sturdy Doctor. “ Supposing I do interpret some 
texts like the Arminians. Can’t Arminians have 
anything right about them ? Who wouldn’t rather 
go with the Arminians when they are right, than 
with the Calvinists when they are wrong?” 

“ That’s it, — you’ve hit it, Doctor,” said Simeon 
Brown. “ That’s what I always say. I say, 
i Don’t he prove it ? and how are you going to 
answer him?’ That gravels ’em.” 

“ Well,” said Deacon Twitchel, “ Brother Seth, 
— you know Brother Seth, — he says you deny 
depravity. He’s all for imputation of Adam’s sin, 
you know ; and I have long talks with Seth about 
it, every time he comes to see me; and he says, 
that, if we did not sin in Adam, it’s givin’ up the 
whole ground altogether ; and then he insists you’re 
dean wrong about the unregenerate doings.” 

“ Not at all, — not in the least,” said the Doc- 
tor, promptly. 

“ I wish Seth could talk with you sometime, 
Doctor. Along in the spring, he was down helpin’ 
me to lay stone fence, — it was when we waa 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


f>4 

fencin’ off the south-pastur’ lot, — and we talked 
pretty nigh all day; and it re’lly did seem to me 
that the longer we talked, the sotter Seth grew. 
He’s a master-hand at readin’ ; and when he heard 
that your remarks on Dr. Mayhew had come out, 
Seth taclded up o’ purpose and come up to New- 
port to get them, and spent all his time, last win- 
ter, studyin’ on it and makin’ his remarks; and I 
tell you, Sir, he’s a tight fellow to argue with. 
Why, that day, what with layin’ stone wall and 
what with arguin’ with Seth, I come home quite 
beat out, — Miss Twitchel will remember.” 

“ That he was ! ” said his helpmeet. “ I ’member, 
when he came home, says I, ‘ Father, you seem 
clean used up ’ ; and I stirred ’round lively like, 
to get him his tea. But he jest went into the 
bedroom and laid down afore supper ; and I says 
to Cerinthy Ann, 4 That’s a thing I ha’ n’t seen 
your father do since he was took with the typhus.’ 
And Cerinthy Ann, she said she knew ’twa’n’t any- 
thing but them old doctrines, — that it was always 
so when Uncle Seth come down. And after tea 
Father was kinder chirked up a little, and he and 
Seth sot by the fire, and was a-beginnin’ it ag’in, 
and I jest spoke out and said , — 4 Now, Seth, these 
’ere things doesn’t hurt you ; but the Deacon is 
weakly, and if he gets his mind riled after supper, 
he don’t sleep none all night. So,’ says I, 4 you’d 
better jest let matters stop where they be ; ’cause, 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


65 


says I, ‘ ’twon’t make no difference, for to-night, 
which on ye’s got the right on’t; — reckon the 
Lord ’ll go on his own way without you ; and we 
shall find out, by’m-by, what that is.’” 

“ Mr. Scudder used to think a great deal on 
these points,” said Mrs. Katy, “ and the last time 
he was home he wrote out his views. I haven’t 
ever shown them to you, Doctor ; but I should be 
pleased to know what you think of them.” 

“ Mr. Scudder was a good man, with a clear 
head,” said the Doctor ; “ and I should be much 
pleased to see anything that he wrote.” 

A flush of gratified feeling passed over Mrs 
Katy’s face for one flower laid on the shrine 
which we keep in our hearts for the dead, is worth 
more than any gift to our living selves. 

We will not now pursue our party further, lesl 
you, reader, get more theological tea than you 
can drink. We will not recount the numerous 
nice points raised by Mr. Simeon Brown and ad- 
justed by the Doctor, — and how Simeon invaria- 
bly declared, that that was the way in which he 
disposed of them himself, and how he had thought 
it out ten years ago. 

We will not relate, either, too minutely, how 
Mary changed color and grew pale and red ii 
quick succession, when Mr. Simeon Brown inci- 
dentally remarked, that the “ Monsoon ” was going 
to set sail that very afternoon, for her three-years 


66 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


v°yag e . Nobody noticed it in the busy amenities, 
— the sudden welling and ebbing of that one pool 
little heart-fountain. 

So we go, — so little knowing what we touch 
and what touches us as we talk! We drop out 
a common piece of news, — “ Mr. So-and-so is 
dead, — Miss Such-a-one is married, — such a ship 
has sailed,” — and lo, on our right hand or our 
left, some heart has sunk under the news silently, 
— gone down in the great ocean of Fate, without 
even a bubble rising to tell its drowning pang, 
And this — God help us! — is what we call liv- 

Ing' 



THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


67 


CHAPTER V. 

THE LETTER. 

Mary returned to the quietude of her room. 
The red of twilight had faded, and the silver moon, 
round and fair, was rising behind the thick boughs 
of the apple-trees. She sat down in the window, 
thoughtful and sad, and listened to the crickets, 
whose ignorant jollity often sounds as mournfully 
to us mortals as ours may to superior beings. 
There the little hoarse, black wretches were scrap- 
ing and creaking, as if life and death were in- 
vented solely for their pleasure, and the world were 
created only to give them a good time in it. Now 
and then a little wind shivered among the boughs 
and brought down a shower of white petals which 
shimmered in the slant beams of the moonlight* 
and now a ray touched some tall head of grass, 
and forthwith it blossomed into silver, and stirred 
itself with a quiet joy like a new-born saint just 
awakening in paradise. And ever and anon came 
on the still air the soft eternal pulsations of the 
distant sea, — sound mi' -nfulest, most mysteriou 


63 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


of all the harpings of Nature. It was the sea,-- - 
the deep, eternal sea, — the treacherous, soft, dread- 
ful, fnexplicable sea ; and he was perhaps at this 
moment being borne away on it, — away, away, — 
to what sorrows, to what temptations, to what 
dangers, she knew not. She looked along the old, 
familiar, beaten path by which he came, by which 
he went, and thought, “ What if he never should 
come back ? ” There was a little path through 
the orchard out to a small elevation in the pas- 
ture lot behind, whence the sea was distinctly vis- 
ible, and Mary had often used her low -silled win- 
dow as a door when she wanted to pass out 
thither; so now she stepped out, and, gathering 
her skirts back from the dewy grass, walked thought- 
fully along the path and gained the hill. Newport 
harbor lay stretched out in the distance, with the 
rising moon casting a long, wavering track of sil- 
ver upon it; and vessels, like silver-winged moths, 
were turning and shifting slowly to and fro upon 
it, and one stately ship in full sail passing fairly 
out under her white canvas, graceful as some 
grand, snowy bird. Mary’s beating heart told her 
that there was passing away from her one who 
carried a portion of her existence with him. She 
sat down under a lonely tree that stood there, and 
resting her elbow on her knee, followed the ship 
with silent prayers, as it passed, like a graceful 
cloudy dream, out of her sight. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


6 $ 


Then she thoughtfully retraced her way to her 
rhamber ; and as she was entering, observed in 
the now clearer moonlight what she had not seen 
before, — something white, like a letter, lying on 
the floor. Immediately she struck a light, and there, 
sure enough, it was, — a letter in James’s hand- 
some, dashing hand ; and the little puss, before 
she knew what she was about, actually kissed it, 
with a fervor which would much have astonished 
the writer, could he at that moment have been 
clairvoyant. But Mary felt as one who finds, in 
the emptiness after a friend’s death, an unexpected 
message or memento ; and all alone in the white, 
calm stillness of her little room her heart took 
sudden possession of her. She opened the letter 
with trembling hands, and read what of course we 
shall let you read. We got it out of a bundle of 
old, smoky, yellow letters, years after all the parties 
concerned were gone on the eternal journey beyond 
earth. 

u My dear Mary, — 

“ I cannot leave you so. I have about two hun 
dred things to say to you, and it’s a shame I could 
not have had longer to see you ; but blessed be ink 
and paper ! I am writing and seeing to fifty things 
besides ; so you mustn’t wonder if my letter has 
rather a confused appearance. 

u I have been thinking that perhaps I gave you 


70 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

a wrong impression of myself, this afternoon. 1 
am going to speak to you from my heart, as if I 
were confessing on my death-bed. Well, then, I 
do not confess to being what is commonly called a 
bad young man. I should be willing that men of 
ihe world generally, even strict ones, should look 
my life through and know all about it. It is only 
in your presence, Mary, that I feel that I am bad 
and low and shallow and mean, because you rep- 
resent to me a sphere higher and holier than any 
in which I have ever moved, and stir up a sort of 
sighing and longing in my heart to come towards 
it. In all countries, in ail temptations, Mary, your 
image has stood between me and low, gross vice. 
When I have been with fellows roaring drunken, 
beastly songs, — suddenly I have seemed to see you 
as you used to sit beside me in the singing-school, 
and your voice has been like an angel’s in my ear, 
and I have got up and gone out sick and disgusted. 
Your face has risen up calm and white and still, 
between the faces of poor lost creatures who know 
no better way of life than to tempt us to sin. And 
sometimes, Mary, when I have seen girls that, had 
they been cared for by good pious mothers, might 
have been like you, I have felt as if I could cry 
for them. Poor women are abused all the world 
over ; and it’s no wonder they turn round and re 
renge themselves on us 

u No, I have not been bad, Mary, as the world 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


71 


calls badness. I have been kept by you. But do 
you remember you told me once, that, when the 
snow first fell and lay so dazzling and pure and 
soft, all about, you always felt as if the spreads 
and window-curtains that seemed white before were 
not clean ? Well, it’s just like that with me. Your 
presence makes me feel that I am not pure, — that 
I am low and unworthy, — not worthy to touch the 
hem of your garment. Your good Dr. Hopkins 
spent a whole half-day, the other Sunday, trying 
to tell us about the beauty of holiness ; and he 
cut, and pared, and peeled, and sliced, and told us 
what it wasn’t, and what was like it, and wasn’t : 
and then he built up an exact definition, and forti- 
fied and bricked it up all round ; and I thought to 
myself that he’d better tell ’em to look at Mary 
Scudder, and they’d understand all about it. That 
was what I was thinking when you talked to me 
for looking at you in church instead of looking 
towards the pulpit. It really made me laugh in 
myself to see what a good little ignorant, uncon- 
scious way you had of looking up at the Doctor, 
as if he knew more about that than you did. 

“ And now as to your Doctor that you think so 
much of, I like him for certain things, in certain 
ways. He is a great, grand, large pattern of a 
man, — a man who isn’t afraid to think, and to 
speak anything he does think , but then I do be- 
lieve, if he would take a vov ige round the wor!<? 


72 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


in the forecastle of a whaler, he would know more 
about what to say to people than he does now ; 
it would certainly give him several new points to 
be considered. Much of his preaching about men 
is as like live men as Chinese pictures of trees 
and rocks and gardens, — no nearer the reality than 
that. All I can say is, ‘ It isn’t so ; and you’d 
know it, Sir, if you knew men.’ He has got what 
they call a system , — just so many bricks put to- 
gether just so ; but it is too narrow to take in all 
I see in my wanderings round this world of ours. 
Nobody that has a soul, and goes round the world 
as I do, can help feeling it at times, and thinking, 
as he sees all the races of men and their ways, 
who made them, and what they were made for. 
To doubt the existence of a God seems to me 
like a want of common sense. There is a Maker 
and a Ruler, doubtless ; but then, Mary, all this 
invisible world of religion is unreal to me. I can 
see we must be good, somehow, — that if we are 
not, we shall not be happy here or hereafter. As 
to all the metaphysics of your good Doctor, you 
can’t tell how they tire me. I’m not the sort of 
person that they can touch. I must have real 
things, — real people ; abstractions are nothing to 
me. Then I think that he systematically contra- 
dicts on one Sunday what he preaches on another. 
One Sunday he tells us that God is the immedi- 
ate efficient Author of every act of will ; the next 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 78 

tie tells us that we kre entire free agents. 1 see 
no sense in it, and can’t take the trouble to put 
it together. But then he and you have something 
in you that I call religion. — something that makes 
you good. When I see a man working away on 
an entirely honest, unworldly, disinterested pattern, 
as he does, and when I see you, Mary, as I said 
before, 1 should like at least to be as you are, 
whether I can believe as you do or not. 

“ How could you so care for me, and waste on 
one so unworthy of you such love ? Oh, Mary, 
some better man must win you ; I never shall and 
never can ; but then you must not quite forget 
me ; you must be my friend, my saint. If, through 
your prayers, your Bible, your friendship, you can 
bring me to your state, I am willing to be brought 
there, — nay, desirous. God has put the key of my 
soul into your hands. 

“ So, dear Mary, good-by ! Pray still for your 
naughty, loving 

“ Cousin James.’’ 

Mary read this letter and re-read it, with more 
pain than pleasure. To feel the immortality of a 
beloved soul hanging upon us, to feel that its only 
communications with Heaven must be through us, 
is the most solemn and touching thought that can 
pervade a mind. It was without one particle of 
gratified vanity, with even a throb of pain, that 

4 


n 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


Bh3 read such exalted praises of herself from one 
blind to the glories of a far higher loveliness. 

Yet was she at that r^nmont unknown to her- 
self, one of the great company scattered through 
earth who are priests unto God, — ministering be- 
tween the Divine One, who has unveiled himself 
unto them, and those who as yet stand in the 
outer courts of the great sanctuary of truth and 
holiness. Many a heart, wrung, pierced, bleeding 
with the sins and sorrows of earth, longing to de- 
part, stands in this mournful and beautiful minis- 
try, but stands unconscious of the glory of the 
work in which it waits and suffers. God’s kings 
and priests are crowned with thorns, walking the 
earth with bleeding feet, and comprehending not 
the work they are performing. 

Mary took from a drawer a small pocket-book, 
from which dropped a lock of black hair, — a glossy 
curl, which seemed to have a sort of wicked, wil- 
ful life in every shining ring, just as she had often 
seen it shake naughtily on the owner’s head. She 
felt a strange tenderness towards the little wilful 
thing, and, as she leaned over it, made in hei 
heart a thousand fond apologies for every fault and 
error. 

She was standing thus when Mrs. Scudder em 
tered the room to see if her daughter had yet re- 
tired. 

“ What are you doing there, Mary ? ” she said, 


i Ht MINISTER S WOOING. 


75 


as her eye fell on the letter. “ What is it you are 
reading ? w 

Mary felt herself grow pa x e ; it was the first time 
in her whole life that her mother had asked her a 
question that she was not from the heart ready to 
answer. Her loyalty to her only parent had gone 
on even-handed with that she gave to her God ; 
she felt, somehow, that the revelations of that af- 
ternoon had opened a gulf between them, and the 
consciousness overpowered her. 

Mrs. Scudder was astonished at her evident em- 
barrassment, her trembling, and paleness. She was 
a woman of prompt, imperative temperament, and 
the slightest hesitation in rendering to her a full, 
outspoken confidence had never before occurred in 
then* intercourse. Her child was the core of her 
heart, the apple of her eye; and intense love is 
always near neighbor to anger ; there was, there- 
fore, an involuntary flash from her eye and a 
heightening of her color, as she said, — “ Mary, 
are vou concealing anything from your mother?” 

In that moment, Mary had grown calm again. 
The wonted serene, balanced nature had found its 
habitual poise, and she looked up innocently, though 
with tears in her laige, blue eyes, and said, — - 

“No, mother, — I have nothing that I do not 
mean to tell you fully. This letter came from 
James Marvyn; he came her * 1 to see me this af 
ternoou.” 


76 


THE MINISTER’S WOOlNu 


“Here? — when? I did not see him’ 

“ After dinner. I was sitting here in the win 
dow, and suddenly he came up behind me through 
the orchard-path.” 

Mrs. Katy sat down with a flushed cheek and a 
discomposed air ; but Mary seemed actually to bear 
her down by the candid clearness of the large, blue 
eye which she turned on her, as she stood perfectly 
collected, with her deadly pale face and a brilliant 
spot burning on each cheek. 

“James came to say good-by. He complained 
that he had not had a chance to see me alone 
since he came home.” 

“ And what should he want to see you alone 
for ? ” said Mrs. Scudder, in a dry, disturbed tone. 

“Mother, — everybody has things at times which 
they would like to say to some one person alone,” 
said Mary. 

“ Well, tell me what he said.” 

“ I will try. In the first place, he said that he 
always had been free, all his life, to run in and 
out of our house, and to wait on me like a 
brother.” 

“ Hum ! ” said Mrs. Scudder ; “ but he isn’t your 
brother, for all that.” 

“ Well, then, he wanted to know why you were 
so cold to him, and why you never let him walk 
with me from meetings or see me alone, as he of- 
L en used to. And I told him why, — thf.t we Were 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


77 


not children now, and that you thought it was not 
best ; and then I talked with him about religion 
and tried to persuade him to attend to the con- 
cerns of his soul, and I never felt so much hope 
for him as I do now.” 

Aunt Katy looked skeptical, and remarked, — “If 
he really felt a disposition for religious instruction 
Dr. Hopkins could guide him much better than 
you could.” 

“Yes, — so I told him, and I tried to persuade 
him to talk with Dr. Hopkins : but he was very 
unwilling. He said, I could have more influence 
over him than anybody else, — that nobody could 
do him any good but me.” 

“Yes, yes, — I understand all that,” said Aunt 
Katy, — “I have heard young men say that before, 
and I know just what it amounts to.” 

“ But, mother, I do think James was moved very 
much, this afternoon. I never heard him speak so 
seriously ; he seemed really in earnest, and he 
asked me to give him my Bible.” 

“ Couldn’t he read any Bible but yours ? ” 

“ Why, naturally, you know, mother, he would 
like my Bible better, because it would put him in 
mind of me. He promised faithfully to read it all 
through.” 

“ And then, it seems, he wrote you a letter.” 

“ Yes, mother.” 

Mary shrank from showing this letter from the 


r 8 


THE MINISTER’S WOO U<* 


latural sense of honor which makes us feel it in* 
Jelicate to expose to an unsympathizing eye the 
confidential outpourings of another heart ; and then 
she felt quite sure that there was no such inter- 
cessor for James in her mother’s heart as in hei 
own. But over all this reluctance rose the deter- 
mined force of duty ; and she handed the letter in 
silence to her mother. 

Mrs. Scudder took it, laid it deliberately in hei 
lap, and then began searching in the pocket of her 
chintz petticoat for her spectacles. These being 
found, she wiped them, accurately adjusted them, 
opened the letter and spread it on her lap, brush- 
ing out its folds and straightening it, that she 
might read with the greater ease. After this she 
read it carefully and deliberately ; and all this while 
there was such a stillness, that the sound of the 
tall varnished clock in the best room could be 
heaid through the half-opened door. 

After reading it with the most tiresome, tortur- 
ing slowness, she rose, and laying it on the table 
under Mary’s eye, and pressing down her finger on 
two lines in the letter, said, “ Mary, have you told 
James that you loved him ? ” 

“ Yes, mother, always. I always loved him, and 
he always knew it.” 

“ But, Mary, this that he speaks of is something 

different. What has passed between ” 

u Why, mother, he was saying that we who wen 


niK iMI'SISTEU’S WOOIKvj,. 


4 S 


Christians drew to ourselves and did not care foi 
the salvation of our friends ; and then I told him 
how I had always prayed for him, and how I 
should be willing even to give up my hopes in 
heaven, if he might be saved.” 

“ Child, — what do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean, if only one of us two could go to 
heaven, I had rather it should be him than me,” 
said Mary. 

“ Oh, child ! child ! ” said Mrs. Seudder, with a 
sort of groan, — “has it gone with you so far as 
this ? Poor child ! — after all my care, you are in 
love with this boy, — your heart is set on him.” 

“ Mother, I am not. I never expect to see him 
much, — never expect to marry him or anybody 
else ; — only he seems to me to have so much more 
life and soul and spirit than most people, — I think 
him so noble and grand, — that is, that he could be 
if he were all he ought to be, — that, somehow”, 
I never think of myself in thinking of him, and 
his salvation seems worth more than mine; — men 
can do so much more! — they can live such splen- 
did lives! — oh, a real noble man is so glorious!” 

“ And you would like to see him well married, 
would you not?” said Mrs. Seudder, sending, with 
a tiue woman’s aim, this keen arrow into the midst 
of the cloud of enthusiasm which enveloped hei 
daughter. “I think,” she added., “that Jane Spsu 
ce x would make him an excellent wife ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 




Mary was astonished at a strange, new pain tha. 
shot through her at these words. She drew in her 
breath and turned herself uneasily, as one who had 
literally felt a keen dividing blade piercing between 
soul and spirit. Till this moment, she had never 
been conscious of herself ; but the shaft had torn 
the veil. She covered her face with her hands; 
the hot blood flushed scarlet over neck and brow; 
at last, with a beseeching look, she threw herself 
into her mother’s arms. 

“ Oh, mother, mother, I am selfish, after all ! ” 

Mrs. Scudder folded her silently to her heart, and 
said, “ My daughter, this is not at all what I wished 
it to be ; I see how it is ; — but then you have been 
a good child ; I don’t blame you. We can’t always 
help ourselves. We don’t always really know how 
we do feel. I didn’t know, for a long while, that 
I loved your father. I thought I was only curious 
about him, because he had a strange way of treat- 
ing me, different from other men ; but, one day, I 
remember, Julian Simons told me that it was re- 
ported that his mother was making a match foi 
him with Susan Emery, and I was astonished to 
find how I felt. I saw him that evening, and the 
moment he looked at me I saw it wasn’t true ; all 
at once I knew something I never knew before, — 
and that was, that I should be very unhappy if 
he loved anv one else better than me. But then 
my child, your father was a different man froir 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


81 


fainet: ; — he was as much better than I was as 
you are than James. I was a foolish, Ihoughtless 
young thing then. I never should have been any 
thing at all, but for him. Somehow, when I loved 
him, I grew more serious, and then he always 
guided and led me. Mary, your father was a won- 
derful man ; he was one of the sort that the world 
knows not of; — sometime I must show you his 
letters. I always hoped, my daughter, that you 
would marry such a man.” 

w Don’t speak of marrying, mother. I never shall 
marry.” 

u You certainly should not, unless you can marry 
*n the Lord. Remember the words, ‘ Be ye not 
unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For 
what fellowship hath righteousness with unright- 
eousness ? and what communion hath light with 
darkness ? and what concord hath Christ with Be- 
lial ? or what part hath he that believeth with an 
infidel ? ’ ” 

“ Mother, James is not an infidel.” 

“ He certainly is an unbeliever , Mary, by his own 
confession; — but then God is a Sovereign and hath 
mercy on whom he will. You do right to pray for 
him ; but if he does not come out on the Lord’s 
side, you must not let your heart mislead you. He 
\s going to be gone three years, and you must try 
to think as little of him as possible; — put your 
mind upon your duties, like a good girl, and God 

4 * 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


82 

will bless you. Don’t believe too much in yom 
power over him ; — young men, when they are i« 
Love, will promise anything, and really think they 
mean it; but nothing is a saving change, except 
what is wrought in them by sovereign grace.” 

“ But, mother, does not God use the love we 
have to each other as a means of doing us good? 
Did you not say that it was by your love to father 
that you first were led to think seriously ? ” 

“ That h true, my child,” said Mrs. Scudder, 
who, like many of the rest of the world, was sur- 
prised to meet her own words walking out on a 
track where she had not expected them, but was 
yet too true of soul to cut their acquaintance be- 
cause they were not going the way of her wishes. 
u Yes, all that is true ; but yet, Mary, when one 
has but one little ewe lamb in the world, one is 
jealous of it. I would give all the world, if you 
had never seen James. It is dreadful enough for a 
woman to love anybody as you can, but it is more 
to love a man of unsettled character and no relig- 
ion. But then the Lord appoints all our goings ; 
it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps; — 
I leave you, my child, in His hands.” And, with 
one solemn and long embrace, the mother and 
daughter parted for the night. 

It is impossible to write a story of New England 
Jne and manners for a thoughtless, shallow-minded 
Derson If we represent things as they are, then 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


83 


intensivy, their depth, their unworldly gravity and 
earnestness, must inevitably repel lighter spirits, as 
the reverse pole of the magnet drives off sticks and 
straws. 

' In no other country -were the soul and the spirit- 
ual life ever such intense realities, and everything 
contemplated so much (to use a current New Eng* 
land phrase) “in reierence to eternity.” Mrs. Scud- 
der was a strong, clear-headed, practical woman. 
No one had a clearer estimate of the material and 
outward life, or could more minutely manage its 
smallest item ; but then a tremendous, eternal fu- 
ture had so weighed down and compacted the 
fibres of her very soul, that all earthly things were 
but as dust in comparison to it. That her child 
should be one elected to walk in white, to reign 
with Christ when earth was a forgotten dream, was 
her one absorbing wish ; and she looked on all the 
events of life only with reference to this. The way 
of life was narrow, the chances in favor of any 
?hild of Adam infinitely small ; the best, the most 
seemingly pure and fair, was by nature a child of 
wrath, and could be saved only by a sovereign de- 
cree, by which it should be plucked as a brand 
from the burning. Therefore it was, that, weighing 
all things in one balance, there was the sincerity of 
her whole being in the dread which she felt at the 
thought of her daughter’s marriage with an unbe* 
iever 


84 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


Mrs. Scudder, after retiring to her room, took hei 
Bible, in preparation for her habitual nightly exer 
eise of devotion, before going to rest. She read 
and re-read a chapter, scarce thinking what she was 
reading, — aroused herself, — and then sat with the 
book in her hand in deep thought. James Marvyn 
was her cousin’s son, and she had a strong feeling 
of respect and family attachment for his father. 
She had, too, a real kindness for the young man, 
whom she regarded as a well-meaning, wilful young- 
ster ; but that he should touch her saint, her Mary, 
that he should take from her the daughter who was 
her all, really embittered her heart towards him. 

u After all,” she said to herself, w there are three 
years, — three years in which there will be no let- 
ters, or perhaps only one or two, — and a great deal 
may be done in three years, if one is wise”; — and 
she felt within herself an arousing of all the shrewd 
womanly and motherly tact of her nature to meet 
this new emergency. 



THE MINISTER’S WOOING 




CHAPTER VL 

THE DOCTOR. 

It is seldom that man and woman come to- 
gether in intimate association, unless influences are 
at work more subtile and mysterious than the sub- 
jects of them dream. Even in cases where the 
strongest ruling force of the two sexes seems out 
of the question, there is still something peculiar 
and insidious in their relationship. A fatherly old 
gentleman, who undertakes the care of a sprightly 
young girl, finds, to his astonishment, that little 
Miss spins all sorts of cobwebs round him. Grave 
professors and teachers cannot give lessons to their 
female pupils just as they give them to the coarser 
sex, and more than once has the fable of “ Cade- 
nus and Vanessa ” been acted over by the mos< 
unlikely performers. 

The Doctor was a philosopher, a metaphysician 
a philanthropist, and in the highest and most ear- 
nest sense a minister of good on earth. The New 
England clergy had no sentimental affectation of 
sanctity that segregated them from wholesome hu 


THE MINISTER’S W COIN Or 


86 

man relations ; and consequently our good Docfoi 
had always resolved, in a grave and thoughtful 
spirit, at a suitable time in his worldly affairs, to 
choose unto himself a helpmeet. Love, as treated 
of in romances, he held to be a foolish and pro* 
fane matter, unworthy the attention of a serious 
and reasonable creature. All the language of poe 
try on this subject was to him an unknown tongue. 
He contemplated the entrance on married life some- 
what in this wise : — That at a time and place 
suiting, he should look out unto himself a woman 
of a pleasant countenance and of good repute, a 
zealous, earnest Christian, and well skilled in the 
items of household management, whom, accosting 
as a stranger and pilgrim to a better life, he should 
loyally and lovirgly entreat, as Isaac did Rebekah, 
to come under the shadow of his tent and be a 
helpmeet unto him in what yet remained of this 
mortal journey. But straitened circumstances, and 
the unsettled times of the Revolution, in which he 
had taken an earnest and zealous part, had delayed 
to a late bachelorhood the fulfilment of this reso- 
lution. 

When once received under the shadow of Mrs 
Scudder’s roof, and within the provident sphere of 
her unfailing housekeeping, all material necessity 
for an immediate choice was taken away ; for he 
was exactly in that situation dfarest tj every schol- 
arly and thoughtful man, in which all that per 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


87 


tained to the outward life appeared to rise under 
his hand at the moment he wished for it, without 
his knowing how or why. 

He was not at the head of a prosperous church 
and society, rich and well-to-do in the world, — but, 
as the pioneer leader of a new theology, in a coun- 
try where theology was the all-absorbing interest, 
he had to breast the reaction that ever attends the 
advent of new ideas. His pulpit talents, too, were 
unattractive. His early training had been all logi- 
cal, not in the least aesthetic ; for, like the minis- 
try of his country generally, he had been trained 
always to think more of what he should say than 
of how he should say it. Consequently, his style, 
though not without a certain massive greatness, 
which always comes from largeness of nature, had 
none of those attractions by which the common 
masses are beguiled into thinking. He gave only 
the results of thought, not its incipient processes , 
and the consequence was, that few could follow 
him. In like manner, his religious teachings were 
characterized by an ideality so high as quite to 
discourage ordinary virtue. 

There is a ladder to heaven, whose base God 
has placed in human affections, tender instincts, 
symbolic feelings, sacraments of mve, through which 
the soul rises higher and higher, refining as she 
goes, till she outgrows the human, and changes, 
as she rises, into the image of the divine. At the 


88 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


very cop ot this ladder, at the threshold of paradise, 
blazes dazzling and crystalline that celestial grade 
where the soul knows self no more, having learned, 
through a long experience of devotion, how blest ix 
is to lose herself in that eternal Love and Beauty 
of which all earthly fairness and grandeur are but 
the dim type, the distant shadow. This highest 
step, this saintly elevation, which but few selectest 
spirits ever on earth attain, to raise the soul to 
which the Eternal Father organized every relation 
of human existence and strung every cord of hu- 
man love, for which this world is one long disci- 
pline, for which the soul’s human education is con- 
stantly varied, for which it is now torn by sorrow, 
now flooded by joy, to which all its multiplied 
powers tend with upward hands of dumb and ig- 
norant aspiration, — this Ultima Thule of virtue 
had been seized upon by our sage as the all of 
religion. He knocked out every round of the lad- 
der but the highest, and then, pointing to its hope* 
less splendor, said to the world, “ Go up thither 
and be saved ! ” 

Short of that absolute self-abnegation, that un 
conditional surrender to the Infinite, there was 
nothing meritorious, — because, if that were com- 
manded, every moment of refusal was rebellion. 
Every prayer, not based on such consecration, he 
held to be an insult to the Divine Majesty; — the 
reading of the Word, the conscientious conduct of 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 89 

ife, the performance of the duties of mar. to man, 
being, without this, the deeds of a creature in 
conscious rebellion to its Eternal Sovereign, were 
all vitiated and made void. Nothing was to be 
preached to the sinner, but his ability and obliga- 
tion to rise immediately to this height. 

It is not wonderful that teaching of this sort 
should seem to many unendurable, and that the 
multitude should desert the preacher with the cry, 
“ This is an hard saying ; who can hear it ? ” The 
young and gay were wearied by the dryness of 
metaphysical discussions which to them were as 
unintelligible as **. statement of the last results of 
the mathematician to the cnild commencing the 
multiplication table. There remained around him 
3nly a select circle, — shrewd, hard thinkers, who 
delighted in metaphysical subtilties, — deep-hearted, 
devoted natures, who sympathized with the un- 
worldly purity of his life, his active philanthropy 
and untiring benevolence, — courageous men, who 
admired his independence of thought and freedom 
in breasting received opinion, — and those unper- 
ceiving, dull, good people who are content to go 
to church anywhere as convenience and circum- 
stance may drift them, — people who serve, among 
the keen feeling and thinking portion of the world, 
much the same purpose as adipose matter in the 
human system, as a soft cushion between the nervei 
of feeling and the muscles of activity 


50 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

There was something affecting in the pertinacity 
with which the good Doctor persevered in saying 
his say to his discouraging minority of hearers 
His salary was small ; his meeting-house, damaged 
during the Revolutionary struggle, was dilapidated 
and forlorn, — fireless in winter, and in summer 
admitting a flood of sun and dust through those 
great windows which formed so principal a feature 
in those first efforts of Puritan architecture. 

Still, grand in his humility, he preached on, — 
and as a soldier never asks why, but stands at 
apparently the most useless post, so he went on 
from Sunday to Sunday, comforting himself with 
the reflection that no one could think more meanly 
of his ministrations than he did himself. u I am 
like Moses only in not being eloquent,” he said, 
in his simplicity. “ My preaching is barren and 
dull, my voice is hard and harsh ; but then the 
Lord is a Sovereign, and may work through me. 
He fed Elijah once through a raven, and he may 
feed some poor wandering soul through me.” 

The only mistake made by the good man was 
that of supposing that the elaboration of theology 
was preaching the gospel. The gospel he was 
preaching constantly, by his pure, unworldly living, 
by his visitations to homes of poverty and sorrow, 
by his searching out of the lowly African slaves, 
his teaching of those whom no one else in those 
(lays had thought of teaching, and by the grand 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


91 


humanity, outrunning his age, in which he pro- 
tested against the then admitted system of slavery 
and the slave-trade. But when, rising in the pul- 
pit, he followed trains of thought suited only to 
the de^k of the theological lecture-room, he did it 
blindly, following that law of self-development by 
which minds of a certain amount of fervor must 
utter what is in them, whether men will hear or 
whether they will forbear. 

But the place where our Doctor was happiest 
was his study. There he explored, and wandered, 
and read, and thought, and lived a life as wholly 
ideal and intellectual as heart could conceive. 

And could Love enter a reverend doctor’s study, 
and find his way into a heart empty and swept 
of all those shreds of poetry and romance in which 
he usually finds the material of his incantations? 
Even so; — but he came so thoughtfully, so rever- 
ently, with so wise and cautious a footfall, that 
the good Doctor never even raised his spectacles 
to see who was there. The first that he knew, 
poor man, he was breathing an air of strange and 
subtile sweetness, — from what paradise he never 
stopped his studies to inquire. He was like a 
great, rugged elm, with all its lacings and archings 
of boughs and twigs, which has stood cold and 
frozen against the metallic blue of winter sky, for- 
getful of leaves, and patient in its bareness, calmly 
content in its naked strength and crystalline defi 


THE MINISTER’S W0U1NU. 


12 

niteness of outline. But in April there is a losing 
and stirring within the grand old monster, — a whis- 
pering of knotted buds, a mounting of sap coursing 
ethereally from bough to bough with a warm and 
gentle life; and though the old elm knows it not, 
a new creation is at hand. Just so, ever since 
the good man had lived at Mrs. Scudder’s, and 
had the gentle Mary for his catechumen, a richer 
life seemed to have colored his thoughts, — his 
mind seemed to work with a pleasure as never 
before. 

Whoever looked on the forehead of the good 
Doctor must have seen the squareness of ideality 
giving marked effect to its outline. As yet ideality 
had dealt only with the intellectual and invisible, 
leading to subtile refinements of argument and 
exalted ideas of morals. But there was lying in 
him, crude and unworked, a whole mine of those 
artistic feelings and perceptions which are awak- 
ened and developed only by the touch of beauty. 
Had he been born beneath the shadow of the great 
Duomo of Florence, where Giotto’s Campanile rises 
like the slender stalk of a celestial lily, where varied 
marbles and rainbow-glass and gorgeous paintings 
and lofty statuary call forth, even from childhood; 
the soul’s reminiscences of the bygone glories of 
its pristine state, his would have been a soul as 
rounded and full in its sphere of faculties as that 
of Da Vinci or Michel Angelo. But 01 all tba< 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


93 


he was as ignorant as a child ; and the first reve- 
lation of his dormant nature was to come to him 
through the face of woman, — that work of the 
Mighty Master which is to be found in all lands 
and ages. 

’ What makes the love of a great mind something 
fearful in its inception is, that it is often the un- 
sealing of a hitherto undeveloped portion of a large 
and powerful being; the woman may or may not 
seem to other eyes adequate to the effect produced, 
but the man cannot forget her, because with her 
came a change which makes him forever a differ- 
ent being. So it was with our friend. A woman 
it was that was destined to awaken in him ail 
that consciousness which music, painting, poetry 
awaken in more evenly developed minds ; and it 
is the silent breathing of her creative presence that 
is even now creating him anew, while as yet he 
knows it nob 

He never thought, this good old soul, whether 
Mary were beautiful or not; he never even knew 
that he looked at her; nor did he know why it 
was that the truths of his theology, when uttered 
by her tongue, had such a wondrous beauty as 
he never felt before. He did not know why it 
was, that, when she silently sat by him, copying 
tangled manuscript frr the press, as she sometimes 
did, his w hole study seemed so full of some divine 
influence, as if, like St Dorotnea, she had w r orn 


H THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

in hei bosom, invisibly, the celestial roses of para* 
dise. He recorded honestly in his diary what mar- 
vellous freshness of spirit the Lord had given him. 
and how he seemed to be uplifted in his commun- 
ings with heaven, without once thinking from the 
robes of what angel this sweetness had exhaled. 

On Sundays, when he saw good Mrs. Jones 
asleep, and Simeon Brown’s hard, sharp eyes, and 
Deacon Twitchel mournfully rocking to and fro, 
and his wife handing fennel to keep the children 
awake, his eye glanced across to me front gallery, 
where one earnest young face, evei kindling with 
feeling and bright with intellect, followed on his 
way, and he felt uplifted and comforted. On Sun- 
day mornings, when Mary came out of her little 
room, in clean white dress, with her singing-book 
and psalm-book in her hands, her deep eyes solemn 
from recent prayer, he thought of that fair and 
mystical bride, the Lamb’s wife, whose union with 
her Divine Redeemer in a future millennial age 
was a frequent and favorite subject of his musings ; 
yet he knew not that this celestial bride, clothed 
in fine linen, clean and white, veiled in humility 
and meekness, bore in his mind those earthly fea- 
tures. No, he never had dreamed of that! But 
only after she had passed by, that mystical vision 
>eemed to him more radiant, more easy to be con- 
ceived. 

It is said, that, if a grape-vine be planted in th« 


f Hh MINISTER’S WOOING. 


95 


neighborhood of a well, its roots, running silently 
underground, wreathe themselves in a network 
around the cold, clear waters, and the vine’s put- 
ting on outward greenness and unwonted clusters 
and fruit is all that tells where every root and 
fibre of its being has been silently stealing. So 
those loves are most fatal, most absorbing, in 
which, with unheeded quietness, every thought and 
fibre of our life twines gradually around some 
human soul, to us the unsuspected wellspring of 
our being. Fearful it is, because so often the vine 
must be uprooted, and all its fibres wrenched away ; 
but till the hour of discovery comes, how is it 
transfigured by a new and beautiful life! 

There is nothing in life more beautiful than that 
trance-like quiet dawn which precedes the rising 
of love in the soul. When the whole being is 
pervaded imperceptibly and tranquilly by another 
being, and we are happy, we know not and ask 
not why, the soul is then receiving all and asking 
nothing. At a later day she becomes self-con- 
scious, and then come craving exactions, endless 
questions, — the whole world of the material comes 
in with its hard counsels and consultations, and 
the beautiful trance fades forever. 

Of course, all this is not so to y r .m , my good 
friends, who read it without the most distant idea 
what it can mean ; but there are people in the 
world to whom it has meant and will mean much 


THE MINISTER’S W001NO. 


and who will see in the present happiness of oui 
respectable friend something even ominous and 
Borrowful. 

It had not escaped the keen eye of the mother 
how quickly and innocently the good Doctor was 
absorbed by her daughter, and thereupon had come 
long trains of practical reflections. 

The Doctor, though not popular indeed as a 
preacher, was a noted man in his age. Her de- 
ceased husband had regarded him with something 
of the same veneration which might have been 
accorded to a divine messenger, and Mrs. Scudder 
had received and kept this veneration as a precious 
legacy. Then, although not handsome, the Doctor 
had decidedly a grand and imposing appearance. 
There was nothing common or insignificant about 
him. Indeed, it had been said, that, when, just 
after the declaration of peace, he walked through 
the town in the commemorative procession side 
by side with General Washington, the minister, 
in the majesty of his gown, bands, cocked hat, 
and full flowing wig, was thought by many to be 
the more majestic and personable figure of the 
two. 

In those days, the minister united in himself all 
i hose ideas of superior position and cultivation 
with which the theocratic system of the New Eng- 
land community had invested him. Mrs. Scudder’a 
notions ol social rank could reach no higher tliai 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


97 


to place her daughter on the throne ol such pre- 
eminence. 

Her Mary, she pondered, was no common girl. 
In those days, it was a rare thing for young per- 
sons to devote themselves to religion or make any 
professions of devout life. The church, or that 
body of people who professed to have passed 
through a divine regeneration, was almost entirely 
confined to middle-aged and elderly people, and 
it was looked upon as a singular and unwonted 
call of divine grace when young persons came for- 
ward to attach themselves to it. When Mary, 
therefore, at quite an early age, in all the bloom 
of her youthful beauty, arose, according to the 
simple and impressive New England rite, to con- 
secrate herself publicly to a religious life, and to 
join the company of professing Christians, she 
was regarded with a species of deference amount- 
ing even to awe. Had it not been for the child- 
like, unconscious simplicity of her manners, the 
young people of her age would have shrunk away 
from her, as from one entirely out of their line of 
thought and feeling ; but a certain natural and 
innocent playfulness and amiable self-forgetfulness 
made her a general favorite. 

Nevertheless, Mrs. Scudder knew no young man 
whom she deemed worthy to have and hold a heart 
which she prized so highly. As to James, he stood 

at double disadvantage, because, as her cousin’s 
6 


})8 THF. MINISTER’S WOOING. 

son, be had grown up from childhood unaei Lei 
eye, and all those sins and iniquities into which 
gay and adventurous youngsters will be falling had 
come to her knowledge. She felt kindly to the 
youth ; she wished him well ; but as to giving him 
her Mary! — the very suggestion made her dislike 
him. She was quite sure he must have tried to 
beguile her, — he must have tampered with hex 
feelings, to arouse in her pure and well-ordered 
mind so much emotion and devotedness as she 
had witnessed. 

How encouraging a Providence, then, was it that 
ne was gone to sea for three years! — how fortu- 
nate that Mary had been prevented in any way 
trom committing herself with him! — how encourag- 
ing that the only man in those parts, in the least 
fitted to appreciate her, seemed so greatly pleased 
and absorbed in her society! — how easily might 
Mary’s dutiful reverence be changed to a warmer 
sentiment, when she should find that so great a 
man could descend from his lofty thoughts to think 
of her! 

In fact, before Mrs. Scudder had gone to sleep 
the first night after James’s departure, she had set- 
tled upon the house where the minister and hid 
young wife were to live, had reviewed the window 
curtains and bed-quilts for each room, and glanced 
complacently at an improved receipt for wedding 
rake which might be brought out to glorify a eei 
ain occasion! 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


i'i 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE FRIENDS AND RELATIONS )F JAMES. 

Mr. Zebedee Marvyn, the father of James, was 
the sample of an individuality so purely the result 
of New England society and education, that he 
must be embodied in our story as a representative 
man of the times. 

He owned a large farm in the immediate vicin- 
ity of Newport, which he worked with his own 
hands and kept under the most careful cultivation. 
He was a man past the middle of life, with a 
white head, a keen blue eye, and a face graven 
leeply with the lines of energy and thought. His 
tvas one of those clearly-cut minds which New 
England forms among her farmers, as she forms 
quartz crystals in her mountains, by a sort of grad- 
ual influence flowing through every pore of her 
soil and system. 

His education, properly so called, had been merely 
that of those common schools and academies with 
which the States are thicidy sown, and which are 
the springs of so much intellectual activity. Hera 


!'M) 


THE MINISTER’S WOOlK*t. 


he had learned to think and to inquire, — a process 
which had not ceased with his school-days. Though 
toiling daily with his sons and hired man in all the 
m inutile of a farmer’s life, he kept an observant 
eye on the field of literature, and there was not a 
new publication heard of which he did not imme- 
diately find means to add to his yearly increasing 
stock of books. In particular was he a well-read 
and careful theologian, and all the controversial 
tracts, sermons, and books, with which then, (as 
ever since,) New England abounded, not only lay 
on his shelves, but had his pencilled annotations, 
queries, and comments thickly scattered along their 
margins. There was scarce an office of public 
trust which had not at one time or another 
been filled by him. He was deacon of the church, 
chairman of the school-committee, justice of the 
peace, had been twice representative in the State 
legislature, and was in permanence a sort of ad- 
viser-general in all cases between neighbor and 
neighbor. Among other acquisitions, he had gained 
some knowledge of the general forms of law, and 
his advice was often asked in preference to that 
of the regular practitioners. 

His dwelling was one of those large, square, 
white, green-blinded mansions, cool, clean, and 
toomy, wherein “he respectability of New England 
in those days rejoiced. The windows were shadet, 
by clumps of lilacs; the deep yard with its white 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. I0i 

fence inclosed a sweep of clean, short grass, and 
a few fruit-trees. Opposite the house was a small 
blacksmith’s-shed, which, cf a wet day, was spark- 
ling and lively with bellows and ringing forge, 
while Mr. Zebedee and his sons were hammering 
and pounding and putting in order anything that 
wa3 out of the way in farming-tools or establish- 
ments. Not unfrequently the latest scientific work 
or the last tractate of theology lay open by his 
side, the contents of which would be discussed 
with a neighbor or two as they entered ; for, to 
say the truth, many a neighbor, less forehanded 
and thrifty, felt the benefit of this arrangement 
Mr. Zebedee, and would drop in to see if he 
“wouldn’t just tighten that rivet,” or “kind o’ ease 
out that ’ere brace,” or “ let a feller have a turn 
with bis bellows, or a stroke or two on his anvil,” 
— to all which the good man consented with a 
grave obligingness. The fact was, that, as nothing 
in the establishment of Mr. Marvyn was often 
broken or lost or out of place, he had frequent 
applications to lend to those less fortunate persons, 
always to be found, who supply their own lack of 
considerateness from the abundance of their neigh- 
bors. 

He who is known always to be in hand, and 
always obliging, in a neighborhood, stands the 
chance sometimes of having nothing for himself 
Mr. Zebedee reflected quietly on this subject tak-- 


102 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ing it, as he did all others, into grave and orderly 
consideration, and finally provided a complete set 
of tools, which he kept for the purpose of lending; 
and when any of these were lent, he told the next 
applicant quietly, that the axe or the hoe was al- 
ready out, and thus he reconciled the Scripture 
which commanded him u to do good and lend r 
with that law of order which was written in his 
nature. 

Early in life Mr. Marvyn had married one of the 
liandsomest girls of his acquaintance, who had 
brought him a thriving and healthy family of chil- 
dren, of whom James was the youngest. Mrs. Mar- 
vyn was, at this time, a tall, sad-eyed, gentle-man- 
nered woman, thoughtful, earnest, deep-natured, 
though sparing in the matter of words. In all her 
household arrangements, she had the same thrift 
and order which characterized her husband ; but 
hers was a mind of a finer and higher stamp than 
his. 

In her bedroom, near by her work-basket, stood 
a table covered with books, — and so systematic 
were her household arrangements, that she nevei 
any day missed her regular hours for reading. One 
who should have looked over this table would have 
Been there how eager and hungry a mind was hie 1 
behind the silent eyes of this quiet woman. His- 
tory, biography, mathematics, volumes of the en 
cyclopaedia, poetry, novels, all alike found theii 


THfc MINIS 1'hR’S WOOING. 


103 


time and place there, — and while she pursued her 
household labors, the busy, active soul within trav- 
elled cycles and cycles of thought, few of which 
ever found expression in words. What might be 
that marvellous music of the Miserere , of which 
she read, that it convulsed crowds and drew groans 
and tears from the most obdurate ? What might 
be those wondrous pictures of Raphael and Leo- 
nardo da Vinci ? What would it be to see the 
Apo lo, the Venus? What was the charm that 
enchanted the old marbles, — charm untold and in- 
conceivable to one who had never seen even the 
slightest approach to a work of art ? Then those 
glaciers of Switzerland, that grand, unapproacha- 
ble mixture of beauty and sublimity in her moun- 
tains ! — what would it be to one who could see 
it ? Then what were all those harmonies of which 
she read, — masses, fugues, symphonies? Oh, could 
she once hear the Miserere of Mozart, just to know 
what music was like ! And the cathedrals, what 
were they ? How wonderful they must be, with 
their forests of arches, many-colored as autumn- 
woods with painted glass, and the chants and an- 
thems rolling down their long aisles ! On all these 
things she pondered quietly, as she sat often on 
Sundays in the old staring, rattle-windowed meet- 
ing-house, and looked at the uncouth old pulpit, 
*nd heard the choir faw-sol-la-ing or singing fu- 
guing tunes ; but of all this she said nothing. 


i04 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINU. 


Sometimes, for days, her thoughts would turn 
from these subjects and be absorbed in mathemat 
ical or metaphysical studies. “ 1 have been follow* 
ing that treatise on Optics for a week, and never 
understood it till to-day,” she once said to her hus- 
band. “ I have found now that there has been a 
iristali s in drawing the diagrams. I have corrected 
it, and now the demonstration is complete. Dinah 
take care, that wood is hickory, and it takes only 
seven sticks of that size to heat the oven.” 

It is not to be supposed that a woman of this 
sort was an inattentive listener to preaching so 
stimulating to the intellect as that of Dr. Hopkins. 
No pair of eyes followed the web of his reason- 
ings with a keener and more anxious watchfulness 
than those sad, deep-set, hazel ones; and as she was 
drawn along the train of its inevitable logic, a close 
observer might have seen how the shadows deep- 
ened over them. For, while others listened for the 
clearness of the thought, for the acuteness of the 
argument, she listened as a soul wide, fine-strung, 
acute, repressed, whose every fibre is a nerve, lis- 
tens to the problem of its own destiny, — listened 
as the mother of a family listens, to know what 
were the possibilities, the probabilities, of this mys- 
terious existence of ours to herself and those dearei 
\o her than herself. 

The consequence of all her listening was a his- 
tory of deep iqvyard sadness. That exultant joy 


THE MINISTER'S WOJING. 


10 / 


oi that entire submission, with which others seemed 
to view the scheme of the universe, as thus un 
folded, did not visit her mind. Everything to her 
seemed shrouded in gloom and mystery ; and that 
darkness she received as a token of unregeneracy, 
as a sign that she was one of those who are des- 
tined, by a mysterious decree, never to receive the 
light of the glorious gospel of Christ. Hence, 
while her husband was a deacon of the church, 
she, for years, had sat in her pew while the sacra- 
ment? 1 elements were distributed, a mournful spec- 
tator. Punctilious in every duty, exact, reverential, 
she still regarded herself as a child of wrath, an 
enemy to God, and an heir of perdition ; nor could 
she see any hope of remedy, except in the sover- 
eign, mysterious decree of an Infinite and Unknown 
Power, a mercy for which she waited with the sick- 
ness of hope deferred. 

Her children had grown up successively around 
her, intelligent and exemplary. Her eldest son was 
mathematical professor in one of the leading col- 
leges of New England. Her second son, who 
jointly with his father superintended the farm, was 
a man of wide literary culture and of fine mathe- 
matical genius ; and not unfrequently, on winter 
evenings, the son, father, and mother worked to- 
gether, by their kitchen fireside, over the calcula- 
tions for the almanac for the ensuing year, which 
the son had been appointed to edit. 


.06 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Everything in the family arrangements was 
marked by a sober precision, a grave and uiet 
self-possession. There was little demonstrativeness 
of affection between parents and children, brothers 
and sisters, though great mutual love and con- 
fidence. It was not pride, nor sternness, but a 
sort of habitual shamefacedness, that kept far back 
in each soul those feelings which are the most 
beautiful in their outcome ; but after a while, the 
habit became so fixed a nature, that a caressing 
or affectionate expression could not have passed 
the lips of one to another without a painful awk- 
wardness. Love was understood, once for all, to 
be the basis on which their life was built. Once 
for all, they loved each other, and after that, the 
less said, the better. It had cost the woman’s 
heart of Mrs. Marvyn some pangs, in the earlier 
part of her wedlock, to accept of this once, for all 
in place of those daily outgushings which every 
woman desires should be like God’s loving-kind- 
nesses, “ new every morning ; ” but hers, too, was 
a nature strongly inclining inward, and, after a few 
tremulous movements, the needle of her soul set- 
tled, and her life-lot was accepted, — not as what 
she would like or could conceive, but as a * eason 
able and good one. Life was a picture painted in 
low, cool tones, but in perfect keeping; and though 
another and brighter style might have pleased bet- 
ter she did not quarrel with this. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOiNG. 


107 


Into this steady, decorous, highly-respectable cir* 
cle the youngest child, James, made a formidable 
irruption. One sometimes sees launched into a 
family-circle a child of so different a nature from 
all the rest, that it might seem as if, like an aero- 
lite, he had fallen out of another sphere. All the 
other .babies of the Marvyn family had been of 
ihat orderly, contented sort, who sleep till it is con- 
venient to take them up, and while awake suck 
their thumbs contentedly and look up with large, 
round eyes at the ceiling when it is not conven- 
ient for their elders and betters that they should 
do anything else. In farther advanced childhood, 
they had been quiet and decorous children, who 
could be all dressed and set up in chairs, like so 
many dolls, of a Sunday morning, patiently await- 
ing the stroke of the church-bell to be carried out 
and put into the wagon which took them over the 
two-miles’ road to church. Possessed of such tran- 
quil, orderly, and exemplary young offshpots, Mrs. 
Marvyn had been considered eminent for her “fac- 
ulty” in bringing up children. 

But James was destined to put “faculty,” and 
every other talent which his mother possessed, to 
rout. He was an infant of moods and tenses, and 
those not of any regular verb. He would cry oi 
nights, and he would be taken up of mornings, 
and ho would not suck his thumb, nor a bundle 
af caraway-seed tied in a rag ard dipped in sweet 


.08 


THE MINISTER’S WOClNG. 


milk, with which the good gossips in vain endeav- 
ored to pacify him. He fought manfully with hie 
two great fat fists the battle of babyhood, utterly 
reversed all nursery maxims, and reigned as baby 
o\er the whole prostrate household. When old 
enough to run alone, his splendid black eyes and 
glossy rings of hair were seen flashing and bob- 
bing in every forbidden place and occupation. 
Now trailing on his mother’s gown, he assisted 
her in salting her butter by throwing in small con- 
tributions of snuff or sugar, as the case might be ; 
and again, after one of those mysterious periods 
of silence which are of most ominous significance 
in nursery experience, he would rise from the dem- 
olition of her indigo-bag, showing a face ghastly 
with blue streaks, and looking more like a gnome 
than the son of a respectable mother. There was 
not a pitcher of any description of contents left 
within reach of his little tiptoes and busy fingers 
that was not pulled over upon his giddy head 
without in the least seeming to improve its stead- 
iness. In short, his mother remarked that she was 
thankful every night when she had fairly gotten 
him into bed and asleep ; James had really got 
through one more day and killed neither himself 
nor any one else. 

As a boy, the case was little better. He did not 
take to study, — yawned over books, and cut out 
moulds for running anchors when he should navo 


THIS MINISTER’S WOOING. 


109 


Deen thinking of his columns of words in foui 
syllables. No mortal knew how he learned to 
read, for he never seemed to stop running long 
enough to learn anything ; and yet he did learn 
and used the talent in conning over travels, sea* 
voyages, and lives of heroes and naval commanders 
Spite of father, mother, and brother, he seemed to 
possess the most extraordinary faculty of running 
up unsavory acquaintances. He was hale-fellow 
well-met with every Tom and Jack and Jim and 
Ben and Dick that strolled on the wharves, and 
astonished his father with minutest particulars of 
every ship, schooner, and brig in the harbor, to* 
gether with biographical notes of the different 
Toms, Dicks, and Harrys by whom they were 
worked. 

There was but one member of the family that 
seemed to know at all what to make of James, 
and that was their negro servant, Candace. 

In those days, when domestic slavery prevailed 
in New England, it was quite a different thing 
in its aspects from the same institution in more 
southern latitudes. The hard soil, unyielding to 
any but the most considerate culture, the thrifty, 
close, shrewd habits of the people, and their untir- 
ing activity and industry, prevented, among the 
mass of the people, any great reliance on slave 
abor. 

Added to this, there were from the very first 


no 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


in New England, serious doubts in the minds of 
thoughtful and conscientious people in reference 
to the lawfulness of slavery ; this scruple pre- 
vented many from availing themselves of it, and 
proved a restraint on all, so that nothing like 
plantation-life existed, and what servants were 
owned were scattered among different families, of 
which they came to be regarded and to regard 
themselves as a legitimate part and portion. Sla- 
very was something foreign, grotesque, and pic- 
turesque in a life of the most matter-of-fact same- 
ness ; it was even as if one should see clusters 
of palm-trees scattered here and there among Yan- 
kee wooden meeting-houses, or open one’s eyes 
on clumps of yellow-striped aloes growing among 
hardhack and huckleberry bushes in the pastures. 

Mr. Marvyn, as a man of substance, numbered 
two or three in his establishment, among whom 
Candace reigned chief. The presence of these 
tropical specimens of humanity, with their wide, 
joyous, rich, physical abundance of nature, and 
their hearty abandon of outward expression, was a 
relief to the still clear-cut lines in which the pic- 
ture of New England life was drawn, that an 
artist must appreciate. 

No race has ever shown such infinite and rich 
capabilities of adaptation to varying soil and cir- 
cumstances as the negro. Alike to them the 
sncws of Canada, the hard, rocky land of New 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Ill 


England, with its set lines and orderly ways, or 
the gorgeous profusion and loose abundance of the 
Southern States. Sambo and Cuffy expand under 
them all. New England yet preserves among her 
hills and valleys the lingering echoes of the jokes 
and jollities of various sable worthies, who saw 
alike in orthodoxy and heterodoxy, in Dr. This- 
side and Dr. That-side, only food for more abun- 
dant merriment; — in fact, the minister of those 
days not unfrequently had his black shadow, a 
sort of African Boswell, who powdered his wig, 
brushed his boots, defended and patronized his 
sermons, and strutted complacently about as it 
through virtue of his blackness he had absorbed 
every ray of his master’s dignity and wisdom. In 
families, the presence of these exotics was a god- 
send to the children, supplying from the abundant 
outwardness and demonstrativeness of their nature 
that aliment of sympathy so dear to childhood, 
which the repressed and quiet habits of New Eng- 
land education denied. Many and many a New 
Englander counts among his pleasantest early recob 
Actions the memory of some of these genial crea- 
tures, who by their warmth of nature were the first 
and most potent mesmerizers of his childish mind. 

Candace was a. powerfully built, majestic black 
woman, corpulent, heavy, with a swinging majesty 
of motion like that of a ship in a ground-swell 
Her shining black skin and glistening whi f e teeth 


112 


THE MINISTER’S W00INU. 


were indications of perfect physical vigor whiefl 
had never known a day’s sickness ; her turban, of 
broad red and yellow bandanna stripes, had even 
a warm tropical glow ; and her ample skirts were 
always ready to be spread over every childish 
transgression of her youngest pet and favorite, 
James. 

She used to hold him entranced long winter- 
evenings, while she sat knitting in the chimney- 
corner, and crooned to him strange, wild African 
legends of the things that she had seen in her 
childhood and early days, — for she had been sto- 
len when about fifteen years of age ; and these 
weird, dreamy talks increased the fervor of his 
loving imagination, and his desire to explore the 
wonders of the wide and unknown world. When 
rebuked or chastised, it was she who had secret 
bowels of mercy for him, and hid doughnuts 111 
her ample bosom to be secretly administered to 
him in mitigation of the sentence that sent him 
supperless to bed ; and many a triangle of pie 
many a wedge of cake, had conveyed to him sur 
reptitious consolations which his more conscien 
tious mother longed, but dared not, to impart. In 
fact, these ministrations, if suspected, were winked 
at by Mrs. Marvyn, for two reasons : first, that 
mothers are generally glad of any loving-kindness 
to an erring boy, which they are not responsible 
for ; and second, that Candace was so set in h 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


113 


ways and opinions that one might as well come 
in front of a ship under full sail as endeavor to 
stop her on a matter where her heart was en- 
gaged. 

To be sure, she had her own private and spe- 
cial quarrels with “ Massa James” when he dis- 
puted any of her sovereign orders in the kitchen, 
and would sometimes pursue him with uplifted 
•rolling-pin and floury hands when he had snatched 
a gingernut or cookey without suitable deference 
or supplication, and would declare, roundly, that 
there u never was sich an aggravatin’ young un.” 
But if, on the strength of this, any one else ven- 
tured a reproof, Candace was immediately round 
on the other side: — “ Dat ar’ chile gwin’ to be 
spiled, ’cause dey’s allers a-pickin’ at him; — he’s 
well enough, on’y let him alone.” 

Well, under this miscellaneous assortment of 
influences, — through the order and gravity and 
solemn monotone of life at home, with the un- 
ceasing tick-tack of the clock forever resounding 
through clean, empty-seeming rooms, — through the 
sea, ever shining, ever smiling, dimpling, soliciting, 
like a magical charger who comes saddled and 
bridled and offers to take you to fairyland, — 
tlirough acquaintance with all sorts of foreign, out- 
landish ragamuffins among the ships in the har- 
bor, — from disgust of slow-moving oxen, and long- 
dlrawn, endless furiows round the fifteen-acre lot 


J14 


THE MINISTER’S WOUlNu. 


— from misunderstandings with grave elder broth* 
ers, and feeling somehow as if, he knew not why, 
he grieved his mother all the time just by being 
what he was and couldn’t help being, — and, 
finally, by a bitter break with his father, in which 
came that last wrench for an individual existence 
which some time or other the young growing 
mind will give to old authority, — by all these 
united, was the lot at length cast; for one even- 
ing James was missing at supper, missing by the 
fireside, gone all night, not at home to breakfast, 
— till, finally, a strange, weird, most heathenish- 
.ooking cabin-boy, who had often been forbidden 
the premises by Mr. Marvyn, brought in a letter, 
half-defiant, half-penitent, which announced that 
James had sailed in the “ Ariel ” the evening be- 
fore. 

Mr. Zebedee Marvyn set his face as a flint, and 
said, “ He went out from us because he was not 
of us,” — wheread old Candace lifted her great 
floury fist from the kneading-trough, and, shaking 
it like a large snowball, said, “ Oh, you go ’long, 
Massa Marvyn ; ye’ll live to count dat ar’ boy for 
de staff o’ your old age yet, now I tell ye ; got 
de makin’ o’ ten or’nary men in him ; kittles dat’a 
full allers will bile over ; good yeast will blow out 
de cork, — lucky ef it don’t bust de bottle. Tell 
ye, der’s angels has der hooks in sich, and when 
ue Lord wants him dey’ll haul him in safe and 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


115 


bound.” And Candace concluded her speech by 
giving a lift to her whole batch of dough and 
flinging it down in the trough with an emphasis 
that made the pewter on the dresser rattle. 

This apparently irreverent way of expressing her 
mind, so contrary to the deferential habits studi« 
ously inculcated in family discipline, had grown to 
be so much a matter of course to all the family 
that nobody ever thought of rebuking it. There 
was a sort of savage freedom about her which 
they excused in right of her having been born 
and bred a heathen, and of course not to be ex- 
pected to come at once under the yoke of civili- 
zation. In fact, you must all have noticed, my 
dear readers, that there are some sorts of people 
for whom everybody turns out as they would for 
a railroad-car, without stopping to ask why; and 
Candace was one of them. 

Moreover, Mr. Marvyn was not displeased with 
this defence of James, as might be inferred from 
his mentioning it four or five times in the course 
of the morning, to say how foolish it was, — won- 
dering why it was that Candace and everybody 
else got so infatuated with that boy, — and end- 
ing, at last, after a long period of thought, with 
the remark, that these poor African creatures often 
seemed to have a great deal of shrewdness in 
them, and that he was often astonished at th> 
penetration that Candace showed. 


116 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


At the end of the year James came home 
more quiet and manly than he had ever been 
before, — so handsome with his sunburnt face, and 
his keen, dark eyes, and glossy curls, that half the 
girls in the front gallery lost their hearts the first 
Sunday he appeared in church. He was tender 
as a woman to his mother, and followed her with 
his eyes, like a lover, wherever she went; he 
made due and manly acknowledgments to his 
father, but declared his fixed and settled intention 
to abide by the profession he had chosen ; and he 
brought home all sorts of strange foreign gifts for 
every member of the household. Candace was 
glorified with a flaming red and yellow turban of 
Moorish stuff, from Mogadore, together with a 
pair of gorgeous yellow morocco slippers with 
peaked toes, which, though there appeared no 
call to wear them in her common course of life, 
she would put on her fat feet and contemplate 
with daily satisfaction. She became increasingly 
strengthened thereby in the conviction that the 
angels who had their hooks in Massa James’o 
jacket were already beginning to shorten the line. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


717 


CHAPTER VIH. 

WHICH TREATS OF ROMANCE. 

There is no word in the English language 
more unceremoniously and indefinitely kicked and 
cuffed about, by what are called sensible people, 
than the word romance . When Mr. Smith or 
Mr. Stubbs has brought every wheel of life into 
such range and order that it is one steady, daily 
grind, — when they themselves have come into the 
habits and attitudes of the patient donkey, who 
steps round and round the endlessly turning wheel 
of some machinery, then they fancy that they 
have gotten “ the victory that overcometh the 
world.” 

All but this dead grind, and the dollars that 
come through the mill, is by them thrown into 
one waste “ catch-all ” and labelled romance . Per- 
haps there was a time in Mr. Smith’s youth, — he 
remembers it now, — when he read poetry, when 
his cheek was wet with strange tears, when a lit- 
tle song, ground out by an organ-grinder in the 
street, had power to set his heart beating and 


118 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

Dring a mist before his eyes. Ah, in those days 
he had a vision ! — a pair of soft eyes stirred him 
strangely ; a little weak hand was laid on his 
manhood, and it shook and trembled; and then 
came all the humility, the aspiration, the fear, the 
hope, the high desire, the troubling of the waters 
by the descending angel of love, — and a little 
more and Mr. Smith might have become a man, 
instead of a banker! He thinks of it now, some- 
times, as he looks across the fireplace after dinner 
and sees Mrs. Smith asleep, innocently shaking 
the bouquet of pink bows and Brussels lace that 
waves over her placid red countenance. 

Mrs. Smith wasn’t his first love, nor, indeed, 
any love at all ; but they agree reasonably well. 
And as for poor Nellie, — well, she is dead and 
buried, — all that was stuff and romance. Mrs. 
Smith’s money set him up in business, and Mrs. 
Smith is a capital manager, and he thanks God 
that he isn’t romantic, and tells Smith Junior not 
to read poetry or novels, and to stick to realities. 

“ This is the victory that overcometh the world,” 
— to learn to be fat and tranquil, to have warm 
fires and good dinners, to hang your hat on the 
-same peg at the same hour every day, to sleep 
soundly all night, and never to trouble your head 
with a thought or imagining beyond. 

But there are many people besides Mr. Smith 
who have gained this victory, — who have stran 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


119 


gied theii higher nature and buried it, and built 
over its grave the structure of their life, the bettei 
to keep it down. 

The fascinating Mrs. T., whose life is a whirl 
between ball and opera, point-lace, diamonds, and 
schemings of admiration for herself, and of estab- 
lishments for her daughters, — there was a time, 
if you will believe me, when that proud, worldly 
woman was so humbled, under the touch of some 
mighty power, that she actually thought herself 
capable of being a poor man’s wife. She thought 
she could live in a little, mean house on no* 
matter-what-street, with one servant, and make her 
own bonnets and mend her own clothes, and 
sweep the house Mondays, while Betty washed,— 
all for what ? All because she thought that there 
was a man so noble, so true, so good, so high- 
minded, that to live with him in poverty, to be 
guided by him in adversity, to lean on him in 
every rough place of life, was a something no- 
bler, better, purer, more satisfying, than French 
laces, opera-boxes, and even Madame Roget’s test 
gowns. 

Unfortunately, this was all romance, — there was 
no such man. There was, indeed, a person of 
very common, self-interested aims and worldly na- 
ture, whom she had credited at sight with an un- 
limited draft on all her better nature; and when 
the hour of discovery came, she awoke from her 


120 


THE MINISTERS WOOIJSG 


dream with a start and a laugh, and ever since 
has despised aspiration, and been busy with the 
realities of life, and feeds poor little Mary Jane, 
who sits by her in the opera-box there, with all 
the fruit which she has picked from the bitter tree 
of knowledge. There is no end of the epigrams 
and witticisms which she can throw out, this 
elegant Mrs. T., on people who marry for love, 
lead prosy, worky lives, and put on their best cap 
with pink ribbons for Sunday. “ Mary Jane shall 
never make a fool of herself ; ” but, even as she 
speaks, poor Mary Jane’s heart is dying within 
her at the vanishing of a pair of whiskers from 
an opposite box, — which whiskers the poor little 
fool has credited with a resume drawn from her 
own imaginings of all that is grandest and most 
heroic, most worshipful in man. By-and-by, when 
Mrs. T. finds the glamour has fallen on her daugh- 
ter, she wonders ; she has “ tried to keep novels 
out of the girl’s way, — where did she get these 
notions ? ” 

All prosaic, and all bitter, disenchanted people 
talk as if poets and novelists made romance. They 
do, — just as much as craters make volcanoes, — 
no more. What is romance ? whence comes it ? 
Plato spoke to the subject wisely, in his quaint 
Way, some two thousand years ago, when he said, 
“ Man’s soul, in a former state, was winged ane, 
soared among the gods * and so it comes to pass 


the ministers wooing. 


121 


that, in this life, when the soul, by the power of 
music or poetry, or the sight of beauty, hath her 
remembrance quickened, forthwith there is a strug- 
gling and a pricking pain as of wings trying to 
come forth, — even as children in teething.” And 
if an old heathen, two thousand years ago, dis- 
coursed thus gravely of the romantic part of our 
nature, whence comes it that in Christian lands 
we think in so pagan a way of it, and turn the 
whole care of it to ballad-makers, romancers, and 
opera-singers ? 

Let us look up in fear and reverence and say, 
u God is the great maker of romance. He, from 
whose hand came man and woman, — he, w 1 ** 
strung the great harp of Existence with all ii ^ 
wild and wonderful and manifold chords, and at- 
tuned them to one another, — he is the great Poet 
of life.” Every impulse of beauty, of heroism 
and every craving for purer love, fairer perfection, 
nobler type and style of being than that which 
closes like a prison-house around us, in the dim, 
daily walk of life, is God’s breath, God’s impulse, 
God’s reminder to the soul that there is some- 
thing higher, sweeter, purer, yet to be attained. 

Therefore, man or woman, when thy ideal is 
snattered, — as shattered a thousand times it must 
be, — when the vision fades, the rapture burns out, 
lurn not away in skepticism and bitterness, say- 
ing, u There is nothing better for a man than that 


122 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ne should eat and drink,” but rather cherish the 
e\ elations of those hours as prophecies and fore- 
shadowings of something real and possible, yet to 
oe attained in the manhood of immortality. The 
scoffing spirit that laughs at romance is an apple 
of the Devil’s own handing from the bitter tree of 
knowledge; — it opens the eyes only to see eternal 
nakedness. 

If ever you have had a romantic, uncalculating 
friendship, — a boundless worship and belief in some 
he^o of your soul, — if ever you have so loved, that 
all cold prudence, all selfish worldly considerations 
have gone down like drift-wood before a river 
flooded with new rain from he wen, so that you 
even forgot yourself, and were ready > i cast your 
whole being into the chasm of existence, as an offer- 
ing before the feet of another, and all for nothing, 
— if you awoke bitterly betrayed and deceived, still 
give thanks to God that you have had one glimpse 
of heaven. The door now shut will open again. 
Rejoice that the noblest capability of your eternal 
inheritance has been made known to you ; treasure 
It, as the highest honor of your being, that evei 
you could so feel, — that so divine a guest ever 
possessed your soul. 

By such experiences are we taught the pathos, 
the sacredness of life; and if we use them wisely 
our eyes will ever after be anointed to see what 
Doems, v T hat romances, what sublime tragedies lie 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


123 


around us m the daily walk of life, “ written uot 
with ink, but in fleshy tables of the heart.’ , The 
dullest street of the most prosaic town has matter 
in it for more smiles, more tears, more intense ex- 
citement, than ever were written in story or sung 
in poem ; the reality is there, of which the roman- 
cer is the second-hand recorder. 

So much of a plea we put in boldly, because 
we foresee grave heads beginning to shake over 
our history, and doubts rising in reverend and dis- 
creet minds whether this history is going to prove 
anything but a love-story, after all. 

We do assure you, right reverend Sir, and you, 
most discreet Madam, that it is not going to prove 
anything else ; and you will find, if you will fol- 
low us, that there is as much romance burning 
under the snow-banks of cold Puritan preciseness 
as if Dr. Hopkins had been brought up to attend 
operas instead of metaphysical preaching, and Mary 
had been nourished on Byron’s poetry instead of 
w Edwards on the Affections.” 

The innocent credulities, the subtle deceptions, 
that were quietly at work under the grave, white 
curls of the Doctor’s wig, were exactly of the kind 
which have beguiled man in all ages, when near the 
sovereign presence of her who is born for his des- 
tiny ; — and as for Mary, what did it avail her that 
she could say the Assembly’s Catechism from end 
to end without tripping, and that every habft of 


124 


THE MINISTER’S WOOlNCi. 


her life beat time to practical realities, steadily as 
the parlor clock? The wildest Italian singer ok* 
dancer, nursed on nothing but excitement from her 
cradle, never was more thoroughly possessed by the 
awful and solemn mystery of woman’s life than 
this Puritan girl. 

It is quite true, that, the next morning after 
James’s departure, she rose as usual in the dim 
gray, and was to be seen opening the kitchen-door 
just at the moment when the birds were giving 
the first little drowsy stir and chirp, — and that she 
went on setting the breakfast-table for the two 
hired men, who were bound to the fields with the 
oxen, — and that then she went on skimming cream 
for the butter, and getting ready to churn, and 
making up biscuit for the Doctor’s breakfast, when 
he and they should sit down together at a some- 
what later hour ; and as she moved about, doing 
all these things, she sung various scraps of old 
psalm-tunes ; and the good Doctor, who was then 
busy with his early exercises of devotion, listened, 
as he heard the voice, now here, now there, and 
thought about angels and the Millennium. Sol- 
emnly and tenderly there floated in at his open 
study-window, through the breezy lilacs, mixed with 
low of kine and bleat of sheep and hum of early 
wakening life, the little silvery ripples of that sing 
ing, somewhat mournful in its cadence, as if a 
gentle soul were striving to hush itself to rest 


l'flE aHnister's wooing. 


125 


The words were those of the rough old version of 
ihe Psalms then in use: — 

u Truly my waiting soul relies 
In silence God upon; 

Because from him thoro doth arise 
All my salvation.” 

And then came the busy patter of the little foot- 
steps without, the moving of chairs, the clink of 
plates, as busy hands were arranging the table ; 
and then again there was a pause, and he thought 
she seemed to come near to the open window of 
the adjoining room, for the voice floated in cleaiei 
and sadder : — 

“ O God. to me be merciful, 

Be merciful to me 1 
Because my soul for shelter safe 
Betakes itself to thee. 

“ Yea, in the shadow of thy wings 
My refuge have I placed, 

Until these sore calamities 
Shall quite be overpast.” 

The tone of life in New England, so habitually 
earnest and solemn, breathed itself in the grave 
and plaintive melodies of the tunes then sung in 
the churches; and so these words, though in the 
saddest minor key, did not suggest to the listen- 
ing ear of the auditor anything more than that 
pensive religious calm in which he delighted to 


126 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


repose. A contrast indeed they were, in their mel 
ancholy earnestness, to the exuberant carollings of 
a robin, who, apparently attracted by them, perched 
himself hard by ki the lilacs, and struck up such 
a merry roulade as quite diverted the attention of 
the fair singer ; — in fact, the intoxication breathed 
in the strain of this little messenger, whom God 
had feathered and winged and filled to the throat 
with ignorant joy, came in singular contrast with 
the sadder notes breathed by that creature of so 
much higher mould and fairer clay, — that creature 
born for an immortal life. 

But the good Doctor was inly pleased when she 
sung, — and when she stopped, looked up from his 
Bible wistfully, as missing something, he knew not 
what ; for he scarce thought how pleasant the lit- 
tle voice was, or knew he had been listening to 
it, — and yet he was in a manner enchanted by it, 
bo thankful and happy that he exclaimed with fer- 
vor, u The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant pla- 
ces ; yea, I have a goodly heritage.” 

So went the world with him, full of joy and 
praise, because the voice and the presence wherein 
lay his unsuspected life were securely near, so 
certainly and constantly a part of his daily walk 
that he had not even the trouble to wish for them. 
But in that other heart how was it? — how with 
the sweet saint that was talking to herself ia 
psalms and hymns and spiritual songs ? 


THL MIinS'lER’S WOOING. 


127 


file good child had remembered her mother’s 
parting words the night before, — “ Put your mind 
upon your duties,” — and had begun her first con- 
scious ex srcise of thought with a prayer that grace 
might be given her to do it. But even as she 
spoke, mingling and interweaving with that golden 
thread of prayer was another consciousness, a life 
in another soul, as she prayed that the grace of 
God might overshadow him, shield him from temp- 
tation, and lead him up to heaven ; and this prayer 
so got the start of the other, that, ere she was 
-aware, she hcd quite forgotten self, and was feel- 
ing, living, thinking in that other life. 

The first discovery she made, when she looked out 
into the fragrant orchard, whose perfumes steamed 
in at her window, and listened to the first chirp- 
ing of birds among the old apple-trees, was one 
that has astonished many a person before her; it 
was this : she found that all that had made life 
interesting to her was suddenly gone. She herself 
had not known, that, for the month past, since 
James came from sea, she had been living in an 
enchanted land, — that Newport harbor, and every 
rock and stone, and every mat of yellow seaweed 
on the shore, that the two-nile road between tho 
cottage and the white house of Zebedee Marvyn, 
every mullein-stalk, every juniper-tree, had all had 
a light and a charm which were suddenly gone. 
There had not been an hour in the day for the 


128 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


last four weeks that had not had its unsuspected 
interest, — because he was at the white house, be- 
cause, possibly, he might be going by, or coming 
in ; nay, even in church, when she stood up to 
sing, and thought she was thinking only of God, 
had she not been conscious of that tenor voice 
that poured itself out by her side ? and though 
afraid to turn her head that way, had she not felt 
that he was there every moment, — heard every 
word of the sermon and prayer for him ? The 
very vigilant care which her mother had taken to 
prevent private interviews had only served to in- 
crease the interest by throwing over it the veil of 
constraint and mystery. Silent looks, involuntary 
Btarts, things indicated, not expressed, — these are 
the most dangerous, the most seductive aliment 
of thought to a delicate and sensitive nature. If 
things were said out, they might not be said 
wisely, — they might repel by their freedom, or dis- 
turb by their unfitness ; but what is only looked 
is sent into the soul through the imagination, 
which makes of it all that the ideal faculties 
desire. 

In a refined and exalted nature, it is very sel- 
lom that the feeling of love, when once thor- 
oughly aroused, bears any sort of relation to the 
reality of the object. It is commonly an enkind- 
ling of the whole power of the soul’s love fir 
whatever she considers highest and fairest ; it is 


I HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


129 


ui fact, the love of something divine and un- 
earthly, which, by a sort of illusion, connects 
itself with a personality. Properly speaking, there 
is but One true, eternal Object of all that the 
mind conceives, in this trance of its exaltation. 
Disenchantment must come, of course and in a 
love' which terminates in happy marriage, there is 
a tender and gracious process, by which, without 
shock or violence, the ideal is gradually sunk in 
the real, which, though found faulty and earthly, 
is still ever tenderly remembered as it seemed 
under the morning light of that enchantment. 

What Mary loved so passionately, that which 
came between her and God in every prayer, was 
not the gay, young, dashing sailor, — sudden in 
anger, imprudent of speech, and, though generous 
in heart, yet worldly in plans and schemings, — 
but her own ideal of a grand and noble man,— 
such a man as she thought he might become. 
He stood glorified before her, an image of the 
strength that overcomes things physical, of the 
power of command which controls men and cir- 
cumstances, of the courage which disdains fear, of 
the honor which cannot lie, of constancy which 
Rnows no shadow of turning, of tenderness which 
orotects the weak, and, lastly, of -eligious loyalty 
vvhich should lay the golden crown of its per- 
fected manhood at the feet of a Sovereign Lord 
and Redeemer. This was the man she xoved, and 


i 30 


1HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


with this regal mantle of glories she invested tne 
person called James Marvyn ; and all that she saw 
and felt to be wanting she prayed for with the 
faith of a believing woman. 

Nor was she wrong; — for, as to every leaf and 
every flower there is an ideal to wh'.ch the growth 
of the plant is constantly urging, so is there an 
ideal to every human being, — a perfect form in 
which it might appear, were every defect removed 
and every characteristic excellence stimulated to 
the highest point. Once in an age, God sends to 
some of us a friend who loves in us, not a false 
imagining, an unreal character, but, looking through 
all the rubbish of our imperfections, loves in us 
the divine ideal of our nature, — loves, not the 
man that we are, but the angel that we may be. 
Such friends seem inspired by a divine gift of 
prophecy, — like the mother of St. Augustine, who, 
in the midst of the wayward, reckless youth of 
her son, beheld him in a vision, standing, clothed 
in white, a ministering priest at the right hand 
of God, — as he has stood for long ages since. 
Could a mysterious foresight unveil to us this 
resurrection form of the friends with whom we 
daily walk, compassed about with mortal infirmity 
we should follow them with faith and reverence 
through all the disguises of human faults and 
weaknesses, “waiting for the manifestation of the 
Bons of God.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


131 


But these wonderful soul friends, to whom God 
grants such perception, are the exceptions in life; 
yet sometimes are we blessed with one who sees 
through us, as Michel Angelo saw through a 
block of marble, when he attacked it in a divine 
fervoi;, declaring that an angel was imprisoned 
within it; and it is often the resolute and deli- 
cate hand of such a friend that sets the angel 
free. 

There be soul-artists, who go through this world, 
looking among their fellows with reverence, as 
one looks amid the dust and rubbish of old shops 
for hidden works of Titian and Leonardo, and, 
finding them, however cracked or torn or painted 
over with tawdry daubs of pretenders, immedi- 
ately recognize the divine original, and set them- 
selves to cleanse and restore. Such be God’s real 
priests, whose ordination and anointing are from 
the Holy Spirit; and he who hath not this enthu- 
siasm is not ordained of God, though whole 
synods of bishops laid hands on him. 

Many such priests there be among women ; — 
for to this silent ministry their nature calls them, 
endowed, as it is, with fineness of fibre, and a 
subtile keenness of perception outrunning slow- 
footed reason ; — and she of whom we write was 
one of these. 

At this very moment, while the crimson wings 
»f morning were casting delicate reflections on 


132 


THE MINISTER’S WOOlNu 


tree, and bush, and rock, they were also redden* 
ing innumerable waves round a ship that sailed 
alone, with a wide horizon stretching like an eter- 
nity around it; and in the advancing morning 
stood a young man thoughtfully looking off into 
the ocean, with a book in his hand, — James Mar- 
vyn, — as truly and heartily a creature of this 
material world as Mary was of the invisible and 
heavenly. 

There are some who seem made to live ; — life 
is such a joy to them, their senses are so fully en 
rapport with all outward things, the world is so 
keenly appreciable, so much a part of themselves, 
they are so conscious of power and victory in the 
government and control of material things, — that 
the moral and invisible life often seems to hang 
b emulous and unreal in their minds, like the pale 
faded moon in the light of a gorgeous sunrise. 
When brought face to face with the great truths 
of the invisible world, they stand related to the 
higher wisdom much like the gorgeous, gay Alci- 
biades to the divine Socrates, or like the young 
man in Holy Writ to Him for whose appearing 
Socrates longed; — they gaze, imperfectly compre 
bending, and al the call of ambition or riches 
turn away sorrowing. 

So it wa3 with James; — in the full tide of 
worldly energy and ambition, there had been form 
•ng over his mind that hard crust that skepticism 


THE MINISTER’S WO LING. 


133 


uf the spiritual and exalted, which men of the 
world delight to call practical sense ; he had been 
suddenly arrested and humbled by the revelation 
of a nature so much nobler than his own that he 
seemed worthless in his own eyes. He had asked 
for love; but when such love unveiled itself, he 
felt like the disciple of old in the view of a di- 
viner tenderness, — “Depart from me, for I am a 
sinful man.” 

But it is not often that all the current of a 
life is reversed in one hour; and now, as James 
stood on the ship’s deck, with life passing around 
him, and everything drawing upon the strings 
of old habits, Mary and her religion recurred to 
his mind as some fair, sweet, inexplicable vision. 
Where she stood he saw ; but how he was ever 
to get there seemed as incomprehensible as how 
a mortal man should pillow his form on sunset 
clouds. 

He held the little Bible in his hand as if it 
were some amulet charmed by the touch of a 
superior being ; but when he strove to read it, his 
thoughts wandered, and he shut it, troubled and 
unsatisfied. Yet there were within him yearnings 
and cravings, wants never felt before, the begin- 
ning of that trouble which must ever precede the 
soul’s rise to a higher plane of being. 

There we leave him. We have show a you 


134 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


now our three different characters* each one in its 
separate sphere, feeling the force of that strongest 
and holiest power with which it has pleased om 
great Author to glorify this mortal life. 



THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


.83 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHICH TREATS OF THINGS SEEN. 

As, for examnle, the breakfast. It is six o’clock, 
-the hired men and oxen are gone,-— the break- 
fast-table stands before the open kitchen-door, 
snowy with its fresh cloth, the old silver coffee-pot 
steaming up a refreshing perfume, — and the Doc- 
tor sits on one side, sipping his coffee and look- 
ing across the table at Mary, who is innocently 
pleased at the kindly beaming in his placid blue 
eyes, — and Aunt Katy Scudder discourses of 
housekeeping, and fancies something must have 
disturbed the rising of the cream, as it is not so 
thick and yellow as wont. 

Now the Doctor, it is to be confessed, was apt 
to fall into a way of looking at people such a? 
pertains to philosophers and scholars generally, that 
is, as if he were looking through them into the 
infinite, — in which case his gaze became so ear- 
nest and intent that it would quite embarrass an 
uninitiated person ; but Mary, being used to this 
ntyle of contemplation, was only quietly amused 


186 THE MINISTER'S WuulNU. 

and waited till some great thought should loom 
up before his mental vision, — in which case she 
hoped to hear from him. 

The good man swallowed his first cup of coffee 
and spoke : — 

“ In the Millennium. I suppose, there will be 
such a fulness and plenty of all the necessaries 
and conveniences of life, that it will not be neces- 
sary for men and women to spend the greater 
part of their lives in labor in order to procure a 
living. It will not be necessary for each one to 
labor more than two or three hours a day, — not 
more than will conduce to health of body and 
vigor of mind ; and the rest of their time they 
will spend in reading and conversation, and such 
exercises as are necessary and proper to improve 
their minds and make progress in knowledge.” 

New England presents probably the only exam- 
ple of a successful commonwealth founded on a 
theory, as a distinct experiment in the prob^m of 
society. It was for this reason that the minds of 
its great thinkers dwelt so much on the final solu- 
tion of that problem in this world. The fact of 
a future Millennium was a favorite doctrine of the 
great leading theologians of New England, and 
Dr. Hopkins dwelt upon it with a peculiar par 
liality. Indeed, it was the solace and refuge of 
□is soul, when oppressed with the discouragement* 
which always attend things actual, to dwell upon 


THE MINISTER’S W001NO. 


137 


and draw out in detail the splendors of this per- 
fect future which was destined to glorify the 
world. 

Nobody, therefore, at the cottage was in the 
least surprised when there dropped into the flow 
of their daily life these sparkling bits of ore, 
which their friend had dug in his explorations of 
a future Canaan, — in fact, they served to raise the 
hackneyed present out of the level of mere com- 
monplace. 

“ But how will it be possible,” inquired Mrs. 
Scudder, “ that so much less work will suffice in 
those days to do all that is to be dene?” 

u Because of the great advance of arts and sci- 
ences which will take place before those days,” 
said the Doctor, “whereby everything shall be per- 
formed with so much greater ease, — also the great 
increase of disinterested love, whereby the skill 
and talents of those who have much shall make 
up for the weakness of those who have less. 

“Yes,” — he continued, after a pause, — “all the 
careful Marthas in those days will have no excuse 
for not sitting at the feet of Jesus ; there will be 
no cumbering with much serving ; the Church 
will have only Maries in those days.” 

This remark, made without the slightest per 
sonal intention, called a curious smile into Mrs. 
Scudder’s face, which was reflected in a slight 
blush from Mary’s, when the crack cf a whip and 


138 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


the rattling of wagon-wheels disturbed the conver- 
sation and drew all eyes to the door. 

There appeared the vision of Mr. Zebedee Mar- 
vyn’s farm- wagon, stored with barrels, boxes, and 
baskets, over which Candace sat throned trium- 
phant, her black face and yellow-striped turban 
glowing in the fresh morning with a hearty, joy- 
ous light, as she pulled up the reins, and shouted 
to the horse to stop with a voice that might have 
done credit to any man living. 

u Dear me, if there isn’t Candace ! ” said Mary. 

“ Queen of Ethiopia,” said the Doctor, who 
sometimes adventured a very placid joke. 

The Doctor was universally known in all the 
neighborhood as a sort of friend and patron-saint 
of the negro race ; he had devoted himself to 
their interests with a zeal unusual in those days. 
His church numbered more of them than any in 
Newport ; and his hours of leisure from study 
were often spent in lowliest visitations among 
them, hearing their stories, consoling their sor- 
rows, advising and directing their plans, teaching 
them reading and writing, and he often drew 
hard on his slender salary to assist them in theii 
emergencies and distresses. 

This unusual condescension on his part was 
repaid on theirs with all the warmth of theii 
race ; and Candace, in particular, devoted herself 
to the Doctor with all the force of her being 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


189 


There was a legend current in the neighborhood. 
Ihat the first efforts to catechize Candace were 
not eminently successful, her modes of contempla- 
ting theological tenets being so peculiarly from 
her own individual point of view that it was hard 
to get her subscription to a received opinion. On 
the venerable clause in the Catechism, in particu- 
lar, which declares that all men sinned in Adam 
and fell with him, Candace made a dead halt: — 
“ I didn’t do dat ar’, for one, I knows. I’s got 
good mem’ry, — allers knows what I does, — neb- 
ber did eat dat ar’ apple, — nebber eat a bit ob 
him. Don’t tell me ! ” 

It was of no use, of course, to tell Candace of 
all the explanations of this redoubtable passage, 
— of potential presence, and representative pres- 
ence, and representative identity, and federal head* 
ship. She met all with the dogged, — 

“ Nebber did it, I knows ; should ’ave ’mem- 
bered, if 1 had. Don’t tell me ! ” 

And even in the catechizing class of the Doctor 
himself, if this answer came to her, she sat black 
and frowning in stony silence even in his reverend 
presence. 

Candace was often reminded that the Doctor 
believed the Chatechism, and that she was differ- 
ing from a great and good man ; but the argu- 
ment made no manner of impression on her, till, 
r >ne day> a far-off cousin of hers, whose condition 


140 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


under a hard master had often moved her com> 
passion, came in overjoyed to recount to her how 
owing to Dr. Hopkins’s exertions, he had gained 
his freedom. The Doctor himself had in person 
gone from house to house, raising the sum for his 
redemption ; and when more yet was wanting, 
supplied it by paying half his last quarter’s lim- 
ited salary. 

“ He do dat ar’ ? ” said Candace, dropping the 
fork wherewith she was spearing doughnuts. “Den 
I’m gwine to b’liebe ebery word he does ! ” 

And accordingly, at the next catechizing, the 
Doctor’s astonishment was great when Candace 
pressed up to him, exclaiming, — 

“ De Lord bress you, Doctor, for opening de 
prison for dem dat is bound ! I b’iiebes in you 
now, Doctor. I’s gwine to b’liebe every word you 
say. I’ll say de Catechize now, — fix it any way 
you like. I did eat dat ar’ apple, — I eat de 
whole tree, an’ swallowed ebery bit ob it, if you 
say so.” 

And this very thorough profession of faith was 
followed, on the part of Candace, by years of the 
most strenuous orthodoxy. Her general mode of 
expressing her mind on the subject was short and 
definitive. 

“ Law me ! what’s de use ? I’s set out to b’liebe 
lie Catechize, an’ I’m gwine to b’liebe it, — so!” 

While we have been telling you all tfiis about 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


141 


her, she has fastened her horse, and is swinging 
leisurely up to the house with a basket on either 
arm. 

41 Good morning, Candace,” said Mrs. Scudde?. 
44 What brings you so early ? ” 

44 Come down ’fore light to sell my chickens an’ 
eggs, — got a lot o’ money for ’em, too. Missy 
Marvyn she sent Miss Scudder some turkey-eggs, 
an’ I brought down some o’ my doughnuts for de 
Doctor. Good folks must lib, you know, as well 
as wicked ones,” — and Candace gave a hearty, unc- 
tuous laugh. 44 No reason why Doctors shouldn’t 
hab good tings as well as sinners, is dere?” — and 
she shook in great billows, and showed her white 
teeth in the abandon of her laugh. 44 Lor’ bress ye 
honey, chile ! ” she said, turning to Mary, 44 why 
ye looks like a new rose, ebery bit ! Don’t wondei 
somebody was allers pryin’ an’ spyin’ about here!” 

44 How is your mistress, Candace ? ” said Mrs 
Scudder, by way of changing the subject. 

44 Well, porly, — rader porly. When Massa Jim 
goes, ’pears like takin’ de light right out her eyes. 
Dat ar’ boy trains roun’ arter his mudder like a 
cosset, he does. Lor’, de house seems so still 
widout him! — can’t a fly scratch his ear but it 
starts a body. Missy Marvyn she sent down, an’ 
says, would you an’ de Doctor an’ Miss Mary 
please come to tea dis arternoon.” 

44 Thank your mistress, Candace,” said Mrs. Scud- 


{ VI THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

der; “ Mary and I will come, — and the Doctor 
perhaps,” looking at the good man, who had re- 
lapsed into meditation, and was eating his break- 
fast without taking note of anything going on. 
* It will be time enough to tell him of it,” she 
said to Mary, “when we have to wake him up to 
dress ; so we won’t disturb him now.” 

To Mary the prospect of the visit was a pleas- 
ant one, for reasons which she scarce gave a defi- 
nite form to. Of course, like a good girl, she had 
come to a fixed and settled resolution to think of 
James as little as possible ; but when the path of 
duty lay directly along scenes and among people 
fitted to recall him, it was more agreeable than 
if it had lain in another direction. Added to this, 
a very tender and silent friendship subsisted be- 
tween Mrs. Marvyn and Mary ; in which, besides 
similarity of mind and intellectual pursuits, there 
was a deep, unspoken element of sympathy. 

Candace watched the light in Mary’s eyes with 
the instinctive shrewdness by which her race seem 
to divine the thoughts and feelings of their supe- 
riors, and chuckled to herself internally. Without 
ever having been made a confidante by any party 
or having a word said to or before her, still the 
whole position of affairs was as clear to her as 
If she had seen it on a map. She had appre 
ciated at once Mrs. Scudder’s coolness, James’s de- 
votion, and Mary’s perplexity, — and inly resolved 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


143 


that, if the little maiden did not think of James 
in his absence, it should not be her fault. 

u Laws, Miss Scudder,” she said, “ Ps right giaa 
you’s cornin’ ; ’cause you hasn’t seen how we’s 
kind o’ splendified since Massa Jim come home. 
You wouldn’t know it vVhy, he’s got mats from 
Mogadore on all de entries, and a great big ’un 
on de parlor ; and ye ought to see de shawl he 
brought Missus, an’ all de cur’us kind o’ tings to 
de squire. ’Tell ye, dat ar’ boy honors his fader 
and mudder, ef he don’t do nuffin else, — an’ data 
de fus’ commandment wid promise, Ma’am ; an’ 
to see him a-settin’ up ebery day in prayer- time, 
so handsome, holdin’ Missus’s han’, an’ lookin’ 
right into her eyes all de time ! Why, dat ar 1 
boy is one of de ’lect, — it’s jest as clare to me 
and de ’lect has got to come in, — dat’s what 1 
say. My faith’s strong, — real clare, ’tell ye,” she 
added, with the triumphant laugh which usually 
chorused her conversation, and turning to the Doc 
lor, who, aroused by her loud and vigorous strain, 
was attending with interest to her. 

“ Well, Candace,” he said, “ we all hope you 
are right.” 

“Hope, Doctor! — I don’t hope, — I knows. ’Tell 
ye, when I pray for him, don’t I feel enlarged? 
Tell ye, it goes wid a rush. I can feel it gwine 
ap like a rushin’, mighty wind. I feels strong 
l do,” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


*44 


“ That’s right, Candace,” said the Doctor, “ keep 
on ; your prayers stand as much chance with Goi 
as if you were a crowned queen. The Lo*d is 
no respecter of persons.” 

“Dat’s what he a’n’t, Doctor, — an’ dere’s where 
I ’gree wid him,” said Candace, as she gathered 
her baskets vigorously together, and, after a sweep- 
ing curtsy, went sailing down to her wagon, full 
laden with content, shouting a hearty “ Good 
mornin’, Missus,” with the full power of her 
cheerful lungs, as she rode off. 

As the Doctor looked after her, the simple, 
pleased expression with which he had watched her 
gradually faded, and there passed over his broad, 
good face a shadow, as of a cloud on a moun- 
tain-side. 

“ What a shame it is,” he said, “ what a scan- 
dal and disgrace to the Protestant religion, that 
Christians of America should openly practise and 
countenance this enslaving of the Africans ! I 
have for a mng time holden my peace, — may the 
Lord forgive me! — but I believe the time is com- 
ng when I must utter my voice. I cannot go 
down to the wharves or among the shipping 
without these poor dumb creatures look at me so 
that I am ashamed, — as if they asked me what 
I, a Christian minister, was doing, that I did not 
come to their help. I must testify.” 

Mrs. Scudder looked grave at this earnest an* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOIXG. 


146 


nouncemeut ; she had heard many like it bemre, 
and they always filled her witn alarm, because 
— — Shall we tell you why ? 

Well, then, it was not because she was not a 
thoroughly indoctrinated anti-slavery woman. Her 
husband, who did all her thinking for her, had 
been a man of ideas beyond his day, and never 
for a moment countenanced the right of slavery 
so far as to buy or own a servant or attendant 
of any kind ; and Mrs. Scudder had always fol- 
lowed decidedly along the path of his opinions 
and practice, and never hesitated to declare the 
reasons for the faith that was in her. But if any 
of us could imagine an angel dropped down out 
of heaven, with wings, ideas, notions, manners, 
and customs all fresh from that very different 
country, we might easily suppose that the most 
pious and orthodox family might find the task of 
presenting him in general society and piloting him 
along the courses of this world a very delicate 
and embarrassing one. However much they might 
reverence him on their own private account, their 
hearts would probably sink within them at the 
idea of allowing him to expand himself according 
fo his previous nature and habits in the great 
wo’-’d without In like manner, men of high, un- 
worldly natures are often reverenced by those who 
are somewhat puzzled what to do with them 
practically. 


146 THE MINISTER’S W001NC. 

Mrs. Scudder considered tne Doctor as a supe- 
rior being, possessed by a holy helplessness in aL 
things material and temporal, which imposed on 
her the necessity of thinking and caring for him, 
and prevising the earthly and material aspects of 
bis affairs. 

There was not in Newport a more thriving and 
reputable business at that time than the slave- 
trade. Large fortunes were constantly being turned 
out in it, and what better providential witness of 
its justice could most people require ? 

Besides this, in their own little church, she re- 
flected with alarm, that Simeon Brown, the rich- 
est and most liberal supporter of the society, had 
been, and was then, drawing all his wealth from 
this source; and rapidly there flashed before her 
mind a picture of one and another, influential 
persons, who were holders of slaves. Therefore, 
When the Doctor announced, “ I must testify,” she 
lattled her tea-spoon uneasily, and answered, — 

u In what way, Doctor, do you think of bearing 
testimony? The subject, I think, is a very diffi- 
cult one.” 

a Difficult? I think no subject can be clearer. 
If we were right in our war for liberty, we are 
wrong in making slaves or keeping them.” 

“ Oh, I did not mean,” said Mrs. Scuader, that it 
was difficult to understand the subject; the right 
of the matter is clear, but what to do is the thing. r 


THE MINISTER a WOOING. 


147 


* L *hall preach about it,” said the Doctor ; “ my 
mind has ran upon it some time. I shall show 
to the house of Judah their sin in this matter.” 

a I fear there will be great offence given,” said 
Mrs. Scudder. u There’s Simeon Brown, one of 
our largest supporters, — he is in the trade.” 

“ Ah, yes, — but he will come out of it, — of 
course he will, — he is all right, all clear. I was 
delighted with the clearness of his views the other 
night, and thought then of bringing them to bear 
on this point, — only, as others were present, I de- 
ferred it. But I can show him that it follows 
logically from his principles ; I am confident of 
that.” 

“ I think you’ll be disappointed in him, Doctor ; 
— I think he’ll be angry, and get up a commo- 
tion, and leave the church.” 

“ Madam,” said the Doctor, “ do you suppose 
that a man who would be willing even to give 
up his eternal salvation for the greatest good of 
the universe could hesitate about a few paltry 
thousands that perish in the using ? ” 

“ He may feel willing to give up his soul,” said 
Mrs. Scudder, naively, “ but I don’t think he’ll 
give up his ships, — that’s quite another matter, — 
he won’t see it to be his duty.” 

“ Then, Ma’am, he’ll be a hypocrite, a gross 
hypocrite, if he won’t,” said the Doctor. “ It is 
not Christian charity to think it of him. I shal 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


nail upon him this morning and tell him my in 
tent ions.” 

“ But, Doctor,” exclaimed Mrs. Scudder, with a 
»tart, “ pray, think a little more of it. You know 
a great many things depend on him. Why ! he 
has subscribed for twenty copies of your ‘ System 
of Theology.’ I hope you’ll remember that.” 

“ And why should 1 remember that ? ” said the 
Doctor, — hastily turning round, suddenly enkin- 
dled, his blue eyes flashing out of their usual 
misty calm, — “what has my 1 System of Theol- 
ogy ’ to do with the matter ? ” 

“ Why,” said Mrs. Scudder, “ it’s of more im- 
portance to get right views of the gospel before 
the world than anything else, is it not? — and if, 
by any imprudence in treating influential people, 
this should be prevented, more harm than good 
would be done.” 

“ Madam,” said the Doctor, “ I’d sooner my sys- 
tem should be sunk in the sea than it should be 
a millstone round my neck to keep me from my 
duty. Let God take care of my theology ; J 
must do my duty.” 

And as the Doctor spoke, he straightened him- 
self to the full dignity of his height, his face kin- 
dling with an unconscious majesty, and, as he 
.\irned, his eye fell on Mary, who was standing 
with her slender figure dilated, her large blue eye 
.wide and bright, in a sort of trance of solemn 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


141 


leering, half smiles, hali tears, — and the strong, 

heroic man started, to see this answer to his 

higher soul in the sweet, tremulous mirror of wom- 
anhood. One of those lightning glances passed 
between his eyes and hers which are the freema* 
sonry of noble spirits, — and, by a sudden impulse 
they approached each other. lie took both hei 
outstretched hands, looked down into her face 
with a look full of admiration, and a sort of 
naive wonder, — then, as if her inspired silence 

had been a voice to him, he laid his hand on her 

head, and said, — 

“ God bless you, child ! ‘ Out of the mouth of 

babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength 
because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still 
the enemy and the avenger!’” 

In a moment he was gone. 

“ Mary,” said Mrs. Scudder, laying her hand on 
her daughter’s arm, “the Doctor loves you!” 

“ I know he does, mother,” said Mary, inno- 
cently; “and I love him, — dearly! — he is a noble, 
grand man ! ” 

Mrs. Scudder looked keenly at her daughter. 
Mary’s eye was as calm as a June sky, and she 
began, composedly, gathering up the teacups. 

“ She did not understand me” thought the 
mother. 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


1«C 


CHAPTER X 

THE TEST OF THEOLOGY. 

The Doctor went immediately to his study and 
put on his best coat and his wig, and, surmount- 
ing them by his cocked hat, walked manfully out 
of the house, with his gold-headed cane in his 
hand. 

“ There he goes ! ” said Mrs. Scudder, looking 
regretfully after him. “ He is such a good man ! 
— but he has not the least idea how to get along 
in the world. He never thinks of anything but 
what is true; he hasn’t a particle of management 
about him.” 

“ Seems to me,” said Mary, “ that is like an 
Apostle. You know, mother, St. Paul says, ‘ In 
simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly 
wisdom, but by the grace of God, we have had 
our conversation in the world.’” 

“ To be sure, — that is just the Doctor,” said 
Mrs. Scudder; “that’s as like him as if it haa 
been written for him. But that kind of way 
somehow, don’t s?em to do in our times; it won’t 


HIE MINISTERS WOOING. 


151 


answer with Simeon Brown, — 1 Know i,he man 
I know just as well, now, how it will all seem to 
him, and what will be the upshot of this talk, if 
the Doctor goes there ! It won’t do any good ; if 
it would, I would be willing. I feel as much de- 
sire to have this horrid trade in slaves stopped as 
anybody; your father, I’m sure, said enough about 
it in his time ; but then I know it’s no use trying. 
Just as if Simeon Brown, when he is making his 
hundreds of thousands in it, is going to be per- 
suaded to give it up! He won’t, — he’ll only turn 
against the Doctor, and won’t pay his part of the 
salary, and will use his influence to get up a 
party against him, and our church will be broken 
up and the Doctor driven away, — that’s all that 
will come of it ; and all the good that he is 
doing now to these poor negroes will be over- 
thrown, — and they never will have so good a 
friend. If he would stay here and work gradu- 
ally, and get his System of Theology printed, — 
and Simeon Brown would help at that, — and 
only drop words in season here and there, till 
people aio brought along with him, why, by-and- 
by something might be done; but now, it’s just 
the most imprudent thing a man could under- 
take.” 

“But, mother, it it really is a sin to trade in 
Blavea and hold them, I don’t see how he can 
help himself I quite agree with hnn. I don’t 


52 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


see how he came to let it go so long as he 
has.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Scudder, “if worst cornea to 
worst, and he will do it, I, for one, shall stand by 
him to the last.” 

“ And I, for another,” said Mary. 

“ I would like him to talk with Cousin Zebe* 
dee about it,” said Mrs. Scudder. “ When we 
are up there this afternoon, we will introduce the 
conversation. He is a good, sound man, and the 
Doctor thinks much of him, and perhaps he may 
shed some light upon this matter.” 

Meanwhile the Doctor was making the best of 
his way, in the strength of his purpose to test the 
orthodoxy of Simeon Brown. . 

Honest old granite boulder that he was, no 
sooner did he perceive a truth than he rolled aftei 
it with all the massive gravitation of his being 
inconsiderate as to what might lie in his way ; — 
from which it is to be inferred, that, with all his 
intellect and goodness, he would have been a very 
clumsy and troublesome inmate of the modern 
American Church. How many societies, boards 
colleges, and other good institutions, have reason 
to congratulate themselves that he has long been 
among the saints ! 

With him logic was everything, and to perceive 
a truth and not act in logical sequence from it a 
thing so incredible, that he had not vet enlargeo 


THji MINIS! UR’S WOOING. 


153 


hie capacity to take it in as a possibility. That 
a man should refuse to hear truth, he could un- 
derstand. In fact, he had good reason to think 
the majority of his townsmen had no leisure to 
give to that purpose. That men hearing truth 
should dispute it and argue stoutly against it, he 
could also understand ; but that a man could 
admit a truth and not admit the plain practice 
resulting from it was to him a thing incomprehen- 
sible. Therefore, spite of Mrs. Katy Scudder’s dis- 
couraging observations, our good Docto. walked 
stoutly and with a trusting heart. 

At the moment when the Doctor, with a silent 
uplifting of his soul to his invisible Sovereign, 
passed out of his study, on this errand, where 
was the disciple whom he went to seek ? 

In a small, dirty room, down by the wharf, the 
windows veiled by cobwebs and dingy with the 
accumulated dust of ages, he sat in a greasy, 
leathern chair by a rickety office-table, on which 
was a great pewter inkstand, an account-book, 
and divers papers tied with red tape. 

Opposite to him was seated a square-built indi- 
vidual, — a man of about forty, whose round head, 
shaggy eyebrows, small, keen e Tr es, broad chest, 
and heavy muscles showed a preponderance of 
the animal and brutal over the intellectual and 
spiritual. This was Mr. Scroggs, the agent of a 
rice-plantation, who had come on, bringing au 


154 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


order foi a new relay of negroes to supply the 
deficit occasioned by fever, dysentery, and othei 
causes, in their last year’s stock. 

“ The fact is,” said Simeon, “ this last ship-load 
wasn’t as good a one as usual ; we lost more 
than a third of it, so we can’t afford to put *hein 
a penny lower.” 

“Ay,” said the other, — “but then there are sc 
many women ! ” 

“ Well,” said Simeon, “ women a’n’t so strong, 
perhaps, to start with, — but then they stan’ it 
out, perhaps, in the long run, better. They’re 
more patient; — some of these men, the Mandin- 
goes, particularly, are pretty troublesome to man- 
age. We lost a splendid fellow, coming over, on 
this very voyage. Let ’em on deck for air, and 
this fellow managed to get himself loose and 
fought like a dragon. He settled one of our men 
with his fist, and another with a marlinspike that 
he caught, — and, in fact, they had to shoot him 
down. You’ll have his wife ; there’s his son, too, 
— fine fellow, fifteen year old by his teeth.” 

“ What ! that lame one ? ” 

“ Oh, he a’n’t lame! — it’s nothing but the cramps 
bom stowing. You know, of course, they are 
more or less stiff. He’s as sound as a nut.” 

* Don’t much like to buy relations, on acc^uii' 
of theii hatching up mischief together,” said Mr 
Scrogga 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


155 


“ O a, that’s all humbug! You must keep ’em 
from coming together, anyway. It’s about as broad 
as ’tis long. There’ll be wives and husbands and 
children among ’em before long, start ’em as you 
will, And then this woman will work bettei for 
having the boy ; she’s kinder set on him ; she jab- 
bers lots of lingo to him, day and night.” 

u Too much, I doubt,” said the overseer, with a 
shiug. 

“ Well, well, — I’ll tell you,” said Simeon, rising. 
u I’ve got a few errands up-town, and you just 
step over with Matlock and look over the stock; 
— just set aside any that you want, and when I 
see ’em all together, I’ll tell you just what you 
shall have ’em for. I’ll be back in an hour or two.” 

And so saying, Simeon Brown called an under- 
ling from an adjoining room, and, committing his 
customer to his care, took his way up-town, in a 
serene frame of mind, like a man who comes 
from the calm performance of duty. 

Just as he came upon the street where was 
situated his own large and somewhat pretentious 
mansion, the tall figure of the Doctor loomed in 
sight, sailing majestically down upon him, making 
a signal to attract his attention. 

'< Good morning, Doctor,” said Simeon. 

** Good morning, Mr. Brown,” said the Doctor. 
* I was looking for you. I did not quite finish 
the subject we were talking about at Mrs. Scud 


i56 


THE MINISTER'S W JOING. 


der’s table last night. I thought I should like tu 
go on with it a little.” 

u With all my heart, Doctor,” said Simeon, not 
a little flattered “ Turn right in. Mrs. Brown 
will be about her house-business, and we will have 
the keeping-room all to ourselves. Come right in.” 

The “ keeping-room ” of Mr. Simeon Brown’s 
house was an intermediate apartment between the 
ineffable glories of the front-parlor and that court 
of the gentiles, the kitchen ; for the presence of 
a large train of negro servants made the latter 
apartment an altogether different institution from 
the throne-room of Mrs. Katy Scudder. 

This keeping-room was a low-studded apart- 
ment, finished with the heavy oaken beams of the 
wall left full in sight, boarded over and painted. 
Two windows looked out on the street, and an- 
other into a sort of court-yard, where three black 
wenches, each with a broom, pretended to De 
sweeping, but were, in fact, chattering and laugh- 
ing, like so many crows. 

On one side of the room stood a heavy ma- 
hogany sideboard, covered with decanters, labelled 
Gin, Brandy, Rum, etc., — for Simeon was held to 
be a provider of none but the best, in his house 
keeping. Heavy mahogany chairs, with crewel 
coverings, stood sentry about the room ; and the 
fireplace was flanked by two broad arm-chairs, 
covered with stamped leather. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


15 / 


On ushering the Doctor into tnis apartment, 
Simeon courteously led him to the sideboard. 

“We mus’n’t make our discussions too dry , 
Doctor,” he said. “ What will you take ? ” 

“ Thank you, Sir,” said the Doctor, with a 
wave of his hand, — “nothing this morning.” 

And depositing his cocked hat in a chair, he 
settled himself into one of the leathern easy- 
chairs, and, dropping his hands upon his knees, 
looked fixedly before him, like a man who is 
studying how to enter upon an inwardly absorb- 
ing subject. 

“ Well, Doctor,” said Simeon, seating himself 
opposite, sipping comfortably at a glass of rum- 
and-water, “ our views appear to be making a 
noise in the world. Everything is preparing for 
your volumes ; and when they appear, the battle 
of New Divinity, I think, may fairly be consid- 
ered as won.” 

Let us consider, that, though a woman may 
forget her first-born, yet a man cannot forget his 
own system of theology, — because therein if he 
be a true man, is the very elixir and essence of 
all that is valuable and hopeful to the universe 
and considering this, let us appreciate the settled 
purpose of our friend, whom even this tempting 
bait did not swerve from the end which he had 
».n view 

“Mr. Brown,” he said, “all our theology i a a* 


.53 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


a drop in the ocean of God’s majesty, to whose 
glory we must be ready to make any and every 
sacrifice.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mi Brown, not exactly com- 
prehending the turn the Doctor’s thoughts were 
taking. 

“ And the glory of God consisteth in the hap- 
piness of all his rational universe, each in his pro- 
portion, according to his separate amount of being; 
so that, when we devote ourselves to God’s glory, 
it is the same as saying that we devote ourselves 
to the highest happiness of his created universe. 

“ That’s clear, Sir,” said Simeon, rubbing his 
hands, and taking out his watch to see the time. 

The Doctor hitherto had spoken in a laborious 
manner, like a man who is slowly lifting a heavy 
bucket of thought out of an internal well. 

“ I am glad to find your mind so clear on this 
all-important point, Mr. Brown, — the more so as 
I feel that we must immediately proceed to apply 
our principles, at whatever sacrifice of worldly 
goods ; and I trust, Sir, that you are one whc at 
the call of your Master would not hesitate even 
to lay down all your worldly possessions for the 
greater good of the universe.” 

“ I trust so, Sir,” said Simeon, rather uneasily 
and without the most distant idea what could be 
coming next in the mind of his reverend friend. 

“ the* it never occur to you, my friend,” said 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


159 


the Doctor, “ that the enslaving of the African 
race is a clear violation of the great law which 
commands us to love our neighbor as ourselves, — 
and a dishonor upon the Christian religion, more 
particularly in us Americans, whom the Lord hath 
so marvellously protected, in our recent struggle 
for our own liberty ? ” 

Simeon started at the first words of this ad- 
dress, much as if some one had dashed a bucket 
of water on his head, and after that rose uneasily, 
walking the room and playing with the seals of 
his watch. 

“I — I never regarded it in this light,” he said. 

“ Possibly not, my friend,” said the Doctor, — 
u so much doth established custom blind the minds 
of the best of men. But since I have given 
more particular attention to the case of the pool 
negroes here in Newport, the thought has more 
and more labored in my mind, — more especially 
as our own struggles for liberty have turned my 
attention to the rights which every human crea- 
ture hath before God, — so that I find much in 
my former blindness and the comparative dumb- 
ness I have heretofore maintained on this subject 
wherewith to reproach myself ; for, though I have 
borne somewhat of a testimony, I have not given 
it that force which so important a subject re- 
quired. I am humbled before Gcd for my neg- 
lect, and resolved now, by His grace, to leavs no 


160 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


stone unturned till this iniquity be purged awaj 
from our Zion.” 

“ Well, Doctor,” said Simeon, “ you are cer 
tainly touching on a very dark and difficult sub- 
ject and one in which it is hard to find out the 
path of duty. Perhaps it will be well to bear it 
in mind, and by looking at it prayerfully some 
light may arise. There are such great obstacles 
in the way, that I do not see at present what 
can be done ; do you, Doctor ? ” 

“ I intend to preach on the subject next Sun- 
day, and hereafter devote my best energies in the 
most public way to this great work,” said the 
Doctor. 

“ You, Doctor ? — and now, immediately ? Why, 
it appears to me you cannot do it. You are the 
most unfit man possible. Whosever duty it may 
be, it does not seem to me to be yours. You 
already have more on your shoulders than you 
can carry ; you are hardly able to keep your 
ground now, with all the odium of this new the- 
ology upon you. Such an eifort would break up 
your church, — destroy the chance you have to 
do good here, — prevent the publication of your 
system.” 

“If it’s nobody’s system but mine, the world 
won’t lose much, if it never be published ; but if 
it be God’s system, nothing can hinder its appear- 
iiqj. Besides, Mr. Brown, I ought not to bo one 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


m 


man alone. I count on your help. 1 hold il aa 
a special providence, Mr. Brown, that in our own 
church an opportunity will be given to testify to 
the reality of disinterested benevolence. How glo- 
rious the opportunity for a man to come out and 
testify by sacrificing his worldly living and busi- 
ness! If you, Mr. Brown, will at once, at what- 
evei sacrifice, quit all connection with this detest- 
able and diabolical slave-trade, you will exhibit a 
spectacle over which angels will rejoice, and which 
will strengthen and encourage me to preach and 
write and testify.” 

Mr. Simeon Brown’s usual demeanor was that 
of the most leathery imperturbability. In calm 
theological reasoning, he could demonstrate, in the 
dryest tone, that, if the eternal torment of six 
bodies and souls were absolutely the necessary 
means for preserving the eternal blessedness of 
thirty-six, benevolence would require us to rejoice 
in it, not in itself considered, but in view of 
greater good. And when he spoke, not a nerve 
quivered; the great mysterious sorrow with which 
the creation groaneth and travaileth, the sorrow 
from which angels veil their faces, never had 
touched one vibrating chord either of body or 
bouI; and he laid down the obligations of man to 
unconditional submission in a style which would 
have affected a person of delicate sensibility much 
dke being mentally sawn in sunder. Benevolence, 


162 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINJ. 


when Simeon Brown spoke of it, seemed the 
grimmest and unloveliest of Gorgons ; for his 
mind seemed to resemble those fountains which 
petrify everything that falls into them. But the 
hardest-shelled animals have a vital and sensitive 
part, though only so large as the point of a nee- 
dle ; and the Doctor’s innocent proposition to 
Simeon, to abandon his whole worldly estate fox 
his principles, touched this spot. 

When benevolence required but the acquies- 
cence in certain possible things which might be 
supposed to happen to his soul, which, after all, 
he was comfortably certain never would happen, 
or the acquiescence in certain suppositious sacri- 
fices for the good of that most intangible of all 
abstractions, Being in general, it was a dry, calm 
subject. But when it concerned the immediate 
giving-up of his slave-ships and a transfer of busi- 
ness, attended with all that confusion and loss 
which he foresaw at a glance, then he felt , and 
felt too much to see clearly. His swarthy face 
flushed, his little blue eye kindled, he walked up 
to the Doctor and began speaking in the short, 
energetic sentences of a man thoroughly awake 
to what he is talking about. 

“Doctor, you’re too fast. You are not a prac- 
tical man, Doctor. You are good in your pulpit* 
— nobody better. Your theology is clear; — no- 
body can argue better. But come to practica 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


163 


matters, why, business has its laws, Doctor,, Min- 
isters are the most unfit men in the world to talk 
on such subjects; it’s departing from their sphere; 
they talk about what they don’t understand. Be- 
sides, you take too much for granted. I’m not 
sure that this trade is an evil. I want to be con- 
vinced of it. I’m sure it’s a favor to these poor 
creatures to bring them to a Christian land. They 
are a thousand times better off. Here they can 
hear the gospel and have some chance of salva- 
tion.” 

“ If we want to get the gospel to the Africans,’' 
said the Doctor, “ why not send whole ship-loads 
of missionaries to them, and carry civilization and 
the arts and Christianity to Africa, instead of stir- 
ring up wars, tempting them to ravage each oth- 
er’s territories, that we may get the booty? Think 
of the numbers killed in the wars, — of all that 
die on the passage ? Is there any need of killing 
ninety-nine men to give the hundredth one the 
gosp» 1, when we could give the gospel to them 
all 7 Ah, Mr. Brown, what if all the money spent 
in fitting out ships to bring the poor negroes here, 
so prejudiced against Christianity that they regard 
it with fear and aversion, had been spent in send- 
ing it to them, Africa would have been covered 
with towns and villages, rejoicing in civilization 
and Christianity?” 

14 Doctor, you are a dreamer,” replied Simeon 


164 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


* au unpractical man. Your situation prevents 
your knowing anything of real life.” 

“ Amen ! the Lord be praised therefor ! ” said 
the Doctor, with a slowly increasing flush mount- 
ing to his cheek, showing the burning brand of a 
smouldering fire of indignation. 

“ Now let me just talk common-sense, Doctor, 
--which has its time and place, just as much as 
theology; — and if you have the most theology, 1 
flatter myself I have the most common-sense ; a 
business-man must have it. Now just look at 
your situation, — how you stand. You’ve got a 
most important work to do. In order to do it, 
you must keep your pulpit, you must keep our 
church together. We are few and weak. We are 
a minority. Now there’s not an influential man 
in your society that don’t either hold slaves or 
engage in the trade ; and if you open upon this 
subject as you are going to do, you’ll just divide 
and destroy the church. All men are not like 
you; — men are men, and will be, till they are 
thoroughly sanctified, which never happens in this 
life, — and there will be an instant and most un- 
favorable agitation. Minds will be turned off 
from the discussion of the great saving doctrine* 
of the gospel to a side issue. You will be turned 
out, — and you know, Doctor, you are not appre- 
ciated as you ought to be, and it won’t be eas’v 
for you to get a new settlement; and then sub- 


TH1 MINISTER’S Vf OOING. 


165 


Rcriptions wili all drop off from your book, and 
you won’t, be able to get that out; and all this 
good will be lost to the wor^ 1 just for want of 
common-sense ” 

“ There is a kind of wisdom in what you say, 
Mr. Brown,” replied the Doctor, naively ; “ but I 
fear much that it is the wisdom spoken of in 
James, iii. 15, which 4 descendeth not from above, 
but is earthly, sensual, devilish.’ You avoid the 
very point of the argument, which is, Is this a 
sin against God? That it is, I am solemnly con- 
vinced ; and shall I ‘ use lightness ? or the things 
that I purpose do I purpose according to the 
flesh, that with me there should be yea, yea, and 
nay, nay ? ’ No, Mr. Brown, immediate repent- 
ance, unconditional submission, these are what I 
must preach as long as God gives me a pulpit to 
stand in, whether men will hear or whether they 
will forbear.” 

“ Well, Doctor,” said Simeon, shortly, “ you can 
do as you like; but I give you fair warning, tnat 
T, for one, shall stop my subscription, and go to 
Dr. Stiles’s church.” 

“ Mr. Brown,” said the Doctor, solemnly, rising, 
and drawing his tall figure to its full height, while 
a vivid light gleamed from his blue eye, “as to 
that, you can do as you like; but I think it my 
duty, as your pastor, to warn you that I have 
oerceived, in my conversation with you this morn- 


i 66 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


mg, such a want of true spiritual illumination 
and discernment as leads me to believe that you 
are yet in the flesh, blinded by that 4 carnal mind 
which 4 is not subject to the law of God, neither 
indeed can be.’ I much fear you have no part 
nor lot in this matter, and that you have need, 
Beriously, to set yourself to search into the foun- 
dations of your hope ; for you may be like him 
of whom it is written, (Isaiah, xliv. 20,) 4 he feed- 
eth on ashes: a deceived heart hath turned him 
aside, that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is 
there not a lie in my right hand ? 9 19 

The Doctor delivered this address to his man 
of influence with the calmness of an ambassador 
charged with a message from a sovereign, for 
which he is no otherwise responsible than to 
speak it in the most intelligible manner ; and 
then, taking up his hat and cane, he bade him 
good morning, leaving Simeon Brown in a tumult 
of excitement which no previous theological dis* 
eussion had ever raised in him. 


TlflC MINISTER’S WOOING. 


)B7 


CHAPTER XL 

THE PRACTICAL TEST. 

The hens cackled drowsily in the barnyard of 
the white Marvyn-house ; in the blue June-after- 
noon sky sported great sailing islands of cloud, 
whose white, glistening heads looked in and out 
through the green apertures of maple and blos- 
soming apple-boughs ; the shadows of the trees 
had already turned eastward, when the one-horse 
wagon of Mrs. Katy Scudder appeared at the 
door, where Mrs. Marvyn stood, with a pleased, 
quiet welcome in her soft, brown eyes. Mrs. 
Scudder herself drove, sitting on a seat in front, 
while the Doctor, apparelled in the most faultless 
style, with white wrist-ruffles, plaited shirt-bosom, 
immaculate wig, and well-brushed coat, sat by 
Mary’s side, serenely unconscious how many fem- 
inine cares had gone to his getting-up. He did 
not know of the privy consultations, the sewings, 
stitchings, and starchings, the ironings, the brush- 
ings, the foldings and unfoldings and timely ar- 
rangements, that gave such dignity and respecta- 


iCH THE MINISTER’S WOOIJNU. 

bility to his outer man, any more tnan the serene 
moon rising tranquilly behind a purple mountain 
top troubles her calm head with treatises on as- 
tronomy ; it is enough for her to shine, — she 
thinks not how or why. 

There is a vast amount of latent gratitude to 
women lying undeveloped in the hearts of men* 
which would come out plentifully, if they only 
knew what they did for them. The Doctor was 
so used to being well dressed, that he never 
asked why. That his wig always sat straight 
and even around his ample forehead, not face- 
tiously poked to one side, nor assuming rakish 
airs, unsuited to clerical dignity, was entirely 
owing to Mrs. Katy Scudder. That his best 
broadcloth coat was not illustrated with shreds 
and patches, fluff and dust, and hanging in un- 
gainly folds, was owing to the same. That his 
long silk stockings never had a treacherous stitch 
allowed to break out into a long running ladder 
was due to her watchfulness ; and that he wore 
spotless ruffles on his wrists or at his bosom was 
her doing also. The Doctor little thought, while 
he, in common with good ministers generally 
gently traduced the Scriptural Martha and insisted 
on the duty of heavenly abstractedness, how much 
of his own leisure for spiritual contemplation was 
due to the Martha-like talents of his hostess. But 
then, t]ie good soul had it in him to be grateful, 


1 HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


169 


and would have been unboundedly so, if he had 
known his indebtedness, — as, we trust, most of 
our magnanimous masters would be. 

Mr. Zebedee Marvyn was quietly sitting in the 
front summer parlor, listening to the story of two 
of his brother church-members, between whom some 
difficulty had arisen in the settling of accounts: 
Jim Bigelow, a small, dry, dapper little individual, 
known as general jobber and factotum, and Abram 
Griswold, a stolid, wealthy, well-to-do farmer. And 
the fragments of conversation we catch are not 
uninteresting, as showing Mr. Zebedee’s habits of 
thought and mode of treating those who came to 
him for advice. 

“ I could ’ave got along better, if he’d ’a’ paid 
me regular every night,” said the squeaky voice 
of little Jim ; — “ but he was allers puttin’ me off 
till it come even change, he said.” 

“ Well, ’ta’n’t always handy,” replied the other , 
u one doesn’t like to break into a five-pound note 
for nothing; and I like to let it run till it comes 
even change.” 

“ But, brother,” said Mr. Zebedee, turning over 
die great Bible that lay on the mahogany stand 
in the corner, u we must go to the law and to 
the testimony,” — and, turning over the leaves, he 
read from Deuteronomy, xxiv.: — 

u Thou shalt not oppress an hired servant that 
is poor and needy, whether ne be of thy brethren 
8 


170 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


□r of thy strangers that are in thy land within 
thy gates. At his day thou shalt give him his 
hire, neither shall the sun go down upon it; for 
he is poor, and setteth his heart upon it : lest he 
cry against thee unto the Lord, and it be sin unto 
thee.” 

u You see what the Bible has to say on the 
matter,” he said. 

“ Well, now, Deacon, I rather think you’ve got 
me in a tight place,” said Mr. Griswold, rising * 
and turning confusedly round, he saw the placid 
figure of the Doctor, who had entered the room 
unobserved in the midst of the conversation, and 
was staring with that look of calm, dreamy ab- 
straction which often led people to suppose that 
he heard and saw nothing of what was going for- 
ward. 

All rose reverently; and while Mr. Zebedee was 
shaking hands with the Doctor, and welcoming 
him to his house, the other two silently withdrew, 
making respectful obeisance. 

Mrs. Marvyn had drawn Mary’s hand gently 
under her arm and taken her to her own sleeping- 
room, as it was her general habit to do, that she 
might show her the last book she had been read- 
ing, and pour into her ear the thoughts that hid 
been kindled up by it. 

Mrs. Scudder, after carefully brushing every speck 
of dust from the Doctor’s coat and seeing bin; 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


171 


seated in an arm-chair by the open window, took 
out a long stocking of blue-mixed 3 arn which she 
was knitting for his winter wear, and, pinning her 
knitting-sheath on her side, was soon trotting hei 
needles contentedly in front of him. 

The ill-success of the Doctor’s morning attempt at 
enforcing his theology in practice rather depressed 
his spirits. There was a noble innocence of nature 
in him which looked at hypocrisy with a puzzled 
and incredulous astonishment. How a man could 
do so and be so was to him a problem at which 
his thoughts vainly labored. Not that he was in 
the least discouraged or hesitating in regard to 
his own course. When he had made up his 
mind to perform a duty, the question of success 
no more entered his thoughts than those of the 
granite boulder to which we have before com- 
pared him. When the time came for him to roll, 
he did roll with the whole force of his being ; — 
where he was to land was not his concern. 

Mildly and placidly he sat with his hands resting 
on his knees, while Mr. Zebedee and Mrs. Scudder 
compared notes respecting the relative prospects 
of corn, flax, and buckwheat, and thence passed to 
the doings of Congress and the last proclamation 
of General Washington, pausing once in a while, if, 
peradventure, the Doctor might take up the conver- 
sation. Still he sat dreamily eyeing the flies as they 
fizzed down the panes of the half-open window 


1 72 


'1 UK MINISTER’S? WOOINli. 


41 1 think,” said Mr. Zebedee, 44 the prospects of 
the Federal party were never brighter.” 

The Doctor was a stanch Federalist, and genei* 
ally warmed to this allurement ; but it did not 
serve this time. 

Suddenly drawing himself up, a iight came into 
his blue eyes, and he said to Mr. Marvyn, — 

44 Pm thinking, Deacon, if it is wrong to keep 
back the wages of a servant till after the going 
down of the sun, what those are to do who keep 
them back all their lives.” 

There was a way the Doctor had of hearing and 
seeing when he looked as if his soul were alar 
off, and bringing suddenly into present conversa- 
tion some fragment of the past on which he had 
been leisurely hammering in the quiet chambers of 
his brain, which was sometimes quite startling. 

This allusion to a passage of Scripture whicn 
Mr. Marvyn was reading when he came in, and 
which nobody supposed he had attended to, star- 
tled Mrs. Scudder, who thought, mentally, 44 Now 
for it ! ” and laid down her knitting-work, and 
eyed her cousin anxiously. Mrs. Marvyn and 
Mary, who had glided in and joined the circle, 
looked interested ; and a slight flush rose and 
overspread the thin cheeks of Mr. Marvyn, and his 
blue eyes deepened in a moment with a thought 
ful shadow, as he looked inquiringly at the Doo* 
tor who proceeded : — 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


173 


u My mind labors with this subject of the en* 
ilaving of the Africans, Mr. Marvyn. We have 
just been declaring to the world that all men are 
born with an inalienable right to liberty. We 
have fought for it, and the Lord of Hosts has 
been with us ; and can we stand before Him 
with our foot upon our brother’s neck ? ” 

A generous, upright nature is always more sen- 
sitive to blame than another, — sensitive in pro- 
portion to the amount of its reverence for good, 
— and Mr. Marvyn’s face flushed, his eye kindled, 
and his compressed respiration showed how deeply 
the subject moved him. Mrs. Marvyn’s eyes turned 
on him an anxious look of inquiry. He answered, 
however, calmly: — 

“ Doctor, I have thought of the subject myself. 
Mrs. Marvyn has lately been reading a pamphlet 
of Mr. Thomas Clarkson’s on the slave-trade, and 
she was saying to me only last night, that she 
did not see but the argument extended equally to 
holding slaves. One thing, I confess, stumbles 
m e: — Was there not an express permission given 
to Israel to buy and hold slaves of old ? ” 

* Doubtless,” said the Doctor ; “ but many per- 
missions were given to them which were local 
and temporary ; for if we hold them to apply to 
the human race, 4 he Turks might quote the Bible 
for making slaves of us, if they could,-- and the 
Algerines have the Scripture all on their side, — 


174 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


and our owe blacks, at some future time, if the} 
can get the power, might justify themselves in 
making slaves of us.” 

u I assure you Sir,” said Mr. Marvyn, “ if i 
speak, it is not to excuse myself. But I am 
quite sure my servants do not desire liberty, and 
would not take it, if it were offered.” 

« Call them in and try it,” said the Doctor. 
w II they refuse, it is their own matter.” 

There was a gentle movement in the group at 
the directness of this personal application ; but 
Mr. Marvyn replied, calmly, — 

u Cato is up at the eight-acre lot, but you may 
call in Candace. My dear, call Candace, and let 
the Doctor put the question to he*” 

Candace was at this moment sitting before the 
ample fireplace in the kitchen, with two iron ket- 
tles before her, nestled each in its bed of hickory 
coals, which gleamed out from their white ashes 
like sleepy, red eyes, opening and shutting. In 
one was coffee, which she was burning, stirring 
vigorously with a pudding-stick, — and in the other, 
puffy doughnuts, in shapes of rings, hearts, and 
marvellous twists, which Candace had such a spe- 
cial proclivity for making, that Mrs. Marvyn’s 
table and closets ne ,r er knew an intermission of 
their presence. 

“ Candace, the Doctor wishes to see you,” said 
Mrs. Marvyn. 


TRK MINIS 1 KR’S WOOING. 


175 


• w Dress his heart!” said Candace, looking up, 
perplexed. “Wants to see me, does he? Can’t 
nobody hab me till dis yer coffee’s done; a min- 
nit’s a minnit in coffee ; — but I’ll be in dereckly,” 
she added, in a patronizing tone. “ Missis, you 
jes’ go ’long in, an’ I’ll be dar dereckly.” 

A few moments after, Candace joined the group 
in the sitting-room, having hasfily tied a clean, 
white apron over her blue linsey working-dress., 
and donned the brilliant Madras vvhich James had 
lately given her, and which she had a barbaric 
fashion of arranging so as to give to her head 
the air of a gigantic butterfly. She sunk a duti- 
ful curtsy, and stood twirling her thumbs, while 
the Doctor surveyed her gravely. 

“ Candace,” said he, w do you think it right tha< 
the black race should be slaves to the white?” 

The face and air of Candace presented a curi- 
ous picture at this moment; a sort of rude sense 
of delicacy embarrassed her, and she turned a 
deprecating look, first on Mrs. Marvyn and then 
on her master. 

“ Don’t mind us, Candace,” said Mrs. Marvyn ; 
u tell the Doctor the exact truth.” 

Candace stood still a moment, and the specta* 
torf saw a deeper shadow roll over her sable face, 
dke a cloud over a dark pool of water, and hei 
immense person heaved with her labored breathing 

“ Ef I must speak, I must,” she said. “ 


176 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


I nebei did tink ’twas right. When Gineral 
Washington was here, I hearn ’em read de Decla- 
ration ob Independence and Bill o’ Bights ; an 
tole Cato den, says I, ‘Ef dat ar’ true, you an’ i 
are as free as anybody.’ It stands to reason. 
Why, look at me, — I a’n’t a critter. I’s neider 
huffs nor horns, l’s a reasonable bein’, — a woman, 
— as much a woman as anybody,” she said, hold- 
ing up her head with an air as majestic as a 
palm-tree; — “an’ Cato, — he’s a man, born free 
an’ equal, ef dar’s any truth in what you read, — 
dat’s all.” 

“ But, Candace, you’ve always been contented 
and happy with us, have you not?” said Mr. 
Marvyn. 

“Yes, Mass’r, — I ha’n’t got nuffin to complain 
ob in dat matter. I couldn’t hab no better friends 
’n you an’ Missis.” 

“ Would you like your liberty, if you could get 
it, though ? ” said Mr. Marvyn. “ Answer me hon- 
estly.” 

“ Why, to be sure I should ! Who wouldn’t ? 
Mind ye,” she said, earnestly raising her black, 
heavy hand, “ ’ta’n’t dat I want to go off, or want 
to shirk work ; but I want to feel free . Deni dat 
isn’t free has nuffin to gib to nobody ; — dey can’t 
Bnow what dey would do.” 

“ Well, Candace, from this day you are free, 
said Mr. Marvyn, solemnly. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


177 


Candace covered her face with both her fat 
hands, and shook and trembled, and, finally, throw- 
ing her apron over her head, made a desperate 
rash for the door, and threw herself down in the 
kitchen in a perfect tropical torrent of tears and 
sobs. 

u You see,” said the Doctor, “ what freedom is 
to every human creature. The blessing of the 
Lord will be on this deed, Mr. Marvyn. ‘ The 
steps of a just man are ordered by the Lord, and 
he delighteth in his way.’” 

At this moment, Candace reappeared at the 
door, her butterfly turban somewhat deranged with 
the violence of her prostration, giving a whimsical 
air to her portly person. 

“ I want ye all to know,” she said, with a clear- 
ing-up snuff, “ dat it’s my will an’ pleasure to go 
right on doin’ my work jes’ de same ; an’, Missis, 
please, I’ll allers put three eggs in de crullers, 
now; an’ I won’t turn de wash-basin down in de 
sink, but hang it jam-up on de nail; an’ l won’t 
pick up chips in a milk-pan, ef I’m in ever so big 
a hurry; — I’ll do eberyting jes’ as ye tells me. 
Now you try me an’ see ef I won’t . ” 

Candace here alluded to some of the little private 
wilfulnesses which she had always obstinately cher- 
ished as reserved rights, in pursuing domestic mat- 
ters with her mistress. 

“I intend,” said Mr. Marvyn, “to make the 


1 78 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


same offer to your husband, when he returns froir. 
work to-night.” 

“ Laus, Mass’r, — why, Cato he’ll do jes’ as 1 
do, — dere a’n’t no kind o’ need o’ askin’ him. 
’Course he will.” 

A smile passed round the circle, because be- 
tween Candace and her husband there existed one 
of those whimsical contrasts which one sometimes 
sees in married life. Cato was a small-built, thin, 
softly-spoken negro, addicted to a gentle chronic 
cough; and, though a faithful and skilful servant, 
seemed, in relation to his better half, much like a 
hill of potatoes under a spreading apple-tree. Can- 
dace held to him with a vehement and patronizing 
fondness, so devoid of conjugal reverence as to 
excite the comments of her friends. 

“ You must remember, Candace,” said a good 
deacon to her one day, when she was ordering 
him about at a catechizing, “ you ought to give 
honor to your husband ; the wife is the weaker 
vessel.” 

“ I de weaker vessel ?,” said Candace, looking 
down from the tower of her ample corpulence or 
the small, quiet man whom she had been fledging 
with the ample folds of a worsted comforter, out 
of which his little head and shining bead-eyes 
looked, much like a blackbird in a nest,— - “7 de 
weaker vessel ? Umph ! ” 

\ whole woman’s-rights’ convention could not 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


179 


have expressed more in a day than was given in 
that single look and word. Candace considered a 
husband as a thing to be taken care of, — a rather 
inconsequent and somewhat troublesome species 
of pet, to be humored, nursed, fed, clothed, and 
guided in the way that he was to go, — an am 
mal that was always losing off buttons, catching 
colds, wearing his best coat every day, and getting 
on his Sunday hat in a surreptitious manner for 
week-day occasions ; but she often condescended to 
express it as her opinion that he was a blessing, 
and that she didn’t know what she should do, if 
it wasn’t for Cato. In fact, he seemed to supply 
her that which we are told is the great want in 
woman’s situation, — an object in life. She some- 
times was heard expressing herself very energeti- 
cally in disapprobation of the conduct of one of 
her sable friends, named Jinny Stiles, who, after 
being presented with her own freedom, worked 
several years to buy that of her husband, but be- 
came afterwards so disgusted with her acquisition 
that she declared she would “ neber buy anoder 
nigger.” 

“ Now Jinny don’t know what she’s talkin’ about, v 
she would say. “ S’pose he does cough and keep 
her awake nights, and take a little too muc h 
sometimes, a’n’t he better’n no husband at all ? 
A body wouldn’t seem to hab nuffin to lib for, ef 
dev hadn’t an ole man to look arter. Men i» 


ISO 


THE MINISTER’S WOOJNO. 


nate’lly foolish about some tings, — but dey’s good 
deal better’n nuffin.” 

And Candace, after this condescending remark, 
would lift off with one hand a brass kettle in 
which poor Cato might have been di owned, and 
fly across the kitchen with it as if it were a 

feather. 





IHK MINISTER’S WOOING. 


381 


CHAPTER XII. 

MISS PRISSY. 

Will our little Mary really fall in love with 
tl e Doctor ? — The question reaches us in anxious 
tones from all the circle of our readers; and what 
especially shocks us is, that grave doctors of di- 
vinity, and serious, stocking-knitting matrons seem 
to be the class who are particularly set against 
the success of our excellent orthodox hero, and 
bent on reminding us of the claims of that un- 
regenerate James, whom we have sent to sea on 
purpose that our heroine may recover herself of 
that foolish partiality for him which all the Chris 
tian world seems bent on perpetuating. 

M Now, really,” says the Rev. Mrs. Q,., looking 
up from her bundle of Sewing- Society work, “ yen 
are not going to let Mary marry the Doctor?” 

My dear Madam, is not that just what you did, 
yourself, after having turned off three or four fas- 
cinating young sinners as good as James any day ? 
Don’t make us believe that you are sorry for it 
now ! 


182 


THE MINISTER’S WUOlMi. 


M Is it possible,” says Dr Theophrastus, who is 
himself a stanch Hopkinsian divine, and who is at 
present recovering from his last grand effort on Nat- 
ural and Moral Ability, — “is it possible that you 
are going to let Mary forget that poor young man 
and marry Dr. Hopkins ? That will never do in 
the world ! ” 

Dear Doctor, consider what would have become 
of you, if some lady at a certain time had not had 
the sense and discernment to fall in love with the 
man who came to her disguised as a theologian. 

“ But he’s so old ! ” says Aunt Maria. 

Not at all. Old? What do you mean? Forty 
is the very season of ripeness, — the very meridian 
of manly lustre and splendor. 

“ But he wears a wig.” 

My dear Madam, so did Sir Charles Grandison, 
and Lovelace, and all the other fine fellows of those 
days ; the wig was the distinguishing mark of a 
gentleman. 

No, — spite of all you may say and declare, we 
do insist that our Doctor is a very proper and prob- 
able subject for a young lady to fall in love with. 

If women have one weakness more marked than 
another, it is towards veneration. They are born 
worshippers, — makers of silver shrines for some 
divinity or other, which, of course, they always 
diink fell straight down from heaven. 

The first step towards then falling in love with 


Tttfi MINISTER’S WOOING. 


183 


an oidinary mortal is generally to dress him out 
with all manner of real or fancied superiority, and 
having made him up, they worship him. 

Now a truly great man, a man really grand and 
noble in heart and intellect, has this advantage 
with women, that he is an idol ready-made to hand ; 
and so that very painstaking and ingenious sex 
have less labor in getting him up, and can be ready 
to worship him on shorter notice. 

In particular is this the case where a sacred pro- 
fession and a moral supremacy are added to the 
intellectual. Just think of the career of celebrated 
preachers and divines in all ages. Have they not; 
stood like the image that u Nebuchadnezzar the " 
king set up,” and all womankind, coquettes and 
flirts not excepted, been ready to fall down and 
worship, even before the sound of cornet, flute, 
harp, sackbut, and so forth ? Is not the faithful 
Paula, with her beautiful face, prostrate in rev- 
erence before poor, old, lean, haggard, dying St. 
Jerome, in the most splendid painting of the world, 
an emblem and sign of woman’s eternal power of 
self-sacrifice to what she deems noblest in man ? 
Does not old Richard Baxter tell us, with delight- 
ful single-heartedness, how his wife fell in love with 
him first, spite of his long, pale face, — and how 
she confessed, dear soul, after many years of mar 
ried life, that she had found him less son*- and bit- 
ter than she had expected? 


184 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


The fact is, women are burdened with fealty 
faith, reverence more than they know what to do 
with ; they stand like a hedge of sweet-peas, throw* 
mg out fluttering tendrils everywhere for something 
high and strong to climb by, — and when they find 
it, be it ever so rough in the bark, they catch upon 
it. And instances are not wanting of those who 
have turned away from the flattery of admirers to 
prostrate themselves at the feet of a genuine hero 
who never wooed them, except by heroic deeds and 
the rhetoric of a noble life. 

Never was there a distinguished man whose great- 
ness could sustain the test of minute domestic in 
spection better than our Doctor. Strong in a single 
hearted humility, a perfect unconsciousness of self 
an honest and sincere absorption in high and holy 
themes and objects, there was in him what we so 
seldom see, — a perfect logic of life ; his minutest 
deeds were the true results of his sublimest princi- 
ples. His whole nature, moral, physical and intel- 
lectual, was simple, pure, and cleanly. He was 
temperate as an anchorite in all matters of living 
— avoiding, from a healthy instinct, all those in- 
toxicating stimuli then common among the clergy 
In his early youth, indeed, he had formed an at 
tachment to the almost universal clerical pipe, — * 
out, observing a delicate woman once nauseated 
by coming into the atmosphere which he and his 
brethren had polluted, he set himself gravely to re* 


THE MINISTER’S W DOING. 


385 


fleet that that which could so offend a svoman 
must needs be uncomely and unworthy a Christian 
man ; wherefore he laid his pipe on the mantel- 
piece, and never afterwards resumed the indul- 
gence. 

In all his relations with womanhood he was deli- 
cate and reverential, forming his manners by that 
old precept, “ The elder women entreat as mothers, 
the younger as sisters,” — which rule, short and sim- 
ple as it is, is, nevertheless, the most perfect resumS 
of all true gentlemanliness. Then, as for person, 
the Doctor was not handsome, to be sure ; but he 
was what sometimes serves with woman better, — 
majestic and manly; and, when animated by thought 
and feeling, having even a commanding grandeur 
of mien. Add to all this, that our valiant hero is 
now on the straight road to bring him into that 
situation most likely to engage the warm partisan- 
ship of a true woman, — namely, that of a man 
unjustly abused for right-doing, — and one may 
see that it is ten to one our Mary may fall in love 
with him yet before she knows it. 

If it were not for this mysterious selfness-and- 
eameness which makes this wild, wandering, unca- 
nonical sailor, James Marvyn, so intimate and in- 
ternal, — if his thread were not knit up with the 
thread of her life, — were it not for the old habit 
of feeling for him, thinking for him, praying foi 
him, hDpirg for him, fearing for him, which — wu 


186 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


is us . — is the unfortunate habit of womankina 
— if it were not for that fatal something which 
neither judgment, nor wishes, nor reason, nor com 
Qion sense shows any great skill in unravelling, — 
we are quite sure that Mary would be in love with 
the Doctor within the next six months ; as it is, 
we leave you all to infer from your own heart 
and consciousness what his chances are. 

A new sort of scene is about to open on our 
heroine, and we shall show her to you, for an 
evening at least, in new associations, and with a 
different background from that homely and rural 
one in which she has fluttered as a white dove 
amid leafy and congenial surroundings. 

As we have before intimated, Newport presented 
a resume of many different phases of society, all 
brought upon a social level by the then univer- 
sally admitted principle of equality. 

There were scattered about in the settlement 
lordly mansions, whose owners rolled in embla- 
zoned carriages, and whose wide halls were the 
scenes of a showy and almost princely hospitality. 
By her husband’s side, Mrs. Katy Scudder was 
allied to one of these families of wealthy planters, 
and often recognized the connection with a quiet 
undertone of satisfaction, as a dignified and self- 
respecting woman should. She liked, once in a 
while, quietly to let people know, that, although 
they lived in the plain little cottage, and made nc 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


187 


pi e tensions, yet they had good blood in their veins 
—that Mr. Scudder’ s mother was a Wilcox, and 
that the Wilcoxes were, she supposed, as high as 
•anybody, — generally ending the remark with the 
observation, that “ all these things, to be sure, were 
matters of small consequence, since at last it would 
be of far more importance to have been a true 
Christian than to have been connected with the 
highest families of the land.” 

Nevertheless, Mrs. Scudder was not a little pleas- 
ed to have in her possession a card of invitation 
to a splendid wedding-party that was going to be 
given, on Friday,' at the Wilcox Manor. She 
thought it a very becoming mark of respect to the 
deceased Mr. Scudder that his widow and daugh- 
ter should be brought to mind, — so becoming and 
praiseworthy, in fact, that, “though an old woman,” 
as she said, with a complacent straightening of her 
tall, lithe figure, she really thought she must make 
an effort to go. 

Accordingly, early one morning, after all domes- 
tic duties had been fulfilled, and the clock, loudly 
ticking through the empty rooms, told that all 
needful bustle had died down to silence, Mrs. 
Katy, Mary, and Miss Prissy Diamond, the dress- 
maker, might have been observed sitting in solemn 
senate arouid the camphor- wood trunk, before 
spoken of, anil which exhaled vague foreign and 
Indian perfumes of silk and sandal- wood. 


188 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


You may have heard of dignitaries, my good 
reader, —but, I assure you, you know very little 
of a situation of trust or importance compared to 
that of the dressmaker in a small New England 
town. 

What important interests does she hold in her 
hands ! How is she besieged, courted, deferred to ! 
Three months beforehand, all her days and nights 
are spoken for ; and the simple statement, that 
only on that day you can have Miss Clippers, is 
of itself an apology for any omission of attention 
elsewhere, — it strikes home at once to the deepest 
consciousness of every woman, married or single. 
How thoughtfully is everything arranged, weeks 
beforehand, for the golden, important season when 
Miss Clippers can come! On that day, there ia 
to be no extra sweeping, dusting, cleaning, cook- 
ing, no visiting, no receiving, no reading or writ- 
ing, but all with one heart and soul are to wait 
upon her, intent to forward the great work which 
the graciously affords a day’s leisure to direct. 
Seated in her chair of state, with her well-worn 
cushion bristling with pins and needles at her side, 
her ready roll of patterns and her scissors, 9he 
hears, judges, and decides ex cathedrd on the pos- 
sible or not possible, in that important art on 
which depends the right of presentation of the flo- 
ral part of Nature’s great horticultural show. She 
alone is competent to say whether there is an* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


18 S 


available remedy for the stained breadth in Jane’s 
dress, — whether the fatal spot by any magical 
hocus-pocus can be cut out from the fulness, or 
turned up and smothered from view in the gathers, 
or concealed by some new fashion of trimming 
faibng with generous appropriateness exactly across 
the fatal weak point. She can tell you whether 
that remnant of velvet will make you a basque,— 
whether Mamma’s old silk can reappear in juve- 
nile grace for Miss Lucy. What marvels follow 
her, wherever she goes ! What wonderful results 
does she contrive from the most unlikely materials, 
as everybody after her departure wonders to sec 
old things become so much better than new! 

Among the most influential and happy of her 
class was Miss Prissy Diamond, — a little, dapper, 
doll-like body, quick in her motions and nimble in 
her tongue, whose delicate complexion, flaxen curls, 
merry flow of spirits, and ready abundance of 
gayety, song, and story, apart from her profes- 
sional accomplishments, made her a welcome guest 
in every family in the neighborhood. Miss Prissy 
laughingly boasted being past forty, sure that the 
avowal would always draw down on her quite a 
Btorm of compliments, on the freshness of her 
sweet-pea complexion and the brightness of her 
merry blue dyes. She was well pleased to hear 
dawning girls wondering why, with so many ad- 
vantages, she had never married. At such remarks 


19 J 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


Miss Prissy always laughed loudly, and declared 
that she had always had such a string of engage- 
ments with the women that she never found half 
an hour to listen to what any man living would 
Bay to her, supposing she could stop to hear him. 
« Besides, if I were to get married, nobody else 
could,” she would say. u Wliat would become of 
all the wedding-clothes for everybody else ? ” But 
sometimes, when Miss Prissy felt extremely gra- 
cious, she would draw out of her little chest just 
the faintest tip-end of a sigh, and tell some young 
lady, in a confidential undertone, that one of these 
days she would tell her something, — and then there 
would come a wink of her blue eyes and a flutter- 
ing of the pink ribbons in her cap quite stimulat-. 
ing to youthful inquisitiveness, though we have 
never been able to learn by any of our antiqua- 
rian researches that the expectations thus excited 
were ever gratified. 

In her professional prowess she felt a pardona- 
ble pride. What feats could she relate of won- 
derful dresses got out of impossibly small patterns 
•»f silk! what marvels of silks turned that could 
i .lot be told from new! what reclaimings of waists 
that other dressmakers had hopelessly spoiled. Had 
not Mrs. General Wilcox once been obliged to caL 
in her aid on a dress sent to her from Paris? ana 
did not Miss Prissy work three days and night? 
on that dress, and make every stitch of that trim 


THE MINISTER'S VV001KG. iy] 

ming over with her own hands, before it was fit to 
be seen ? And when Mrs. Governor Dexter’s best 
silver-gray brocade was spoiled by Miss Pimlico, 
and there wasn’t another scrap to pattern it with, 
didn’t she make a new waist out of the cape and 
piece one of the sleeves twenty-nine times, and 
yet nobody would ever have known that there was 
4 joining in it? 

In fact, though Miss Prissy enjoyed the fair 
a/erage plain-sailing of her work, she might be 
said to revel in difficulties. A full pattern with 
trimming, all ample and ready, awoke a moderate 
enjoyment; but the resurrection of anything half- 
worn or imperfectly made, the brilliant success, 
when, after turning, twisting, piecing, contriving, 
and, by unheard-of inventions of trimming, a dress 
faded and defaced was restored to more than pris- 
tine splendor , — that was a triumph worth enjoying. 

It was true, Miss Prissy, like most of her no- 
madic compeers, was a little given to gossip ; but, 
after all, it was innocent gossip, — not a bit of 
malice in it; it was only all the particulars about 
Mrs. Thus-and-So’s wardrobe, — all the statistics 
of Mrs. That-and-T’other’s china-closet, — all the 
minute items of Miss Simkins’s wedding-clothes, — 
and how her mother cried, the morning of the 
wedding, and said that she didn’t know anything 
how she could spare Louisa Jane, only that Ed 
ward was such a good boy that she felt she could 


1 92 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ove him like an own son, — and what a providence 
it seemed that the very ring that was put into the 
bride-loaf was the one that he gave her when he 
first went to sea, when she wouldn’t be engaged 
to him because she thought she loved Thomas 
Strickland better, but that was only because she 
hadn’t found him out, you know, — and so forth, 
and so forth. Sometimes, too, her narrations as- 
sumed a solemn cast, and brought to mind the 
hush of funerals, and told the words spoken in 
faint whispers, when hands were clasped for the 
last time, — and of utterances crushed out from 
hearts, when the hammer of a great sorrow strikes 
out sparks of the divine, even from common stone ; 
and there would be real tears in the little bine 
eyes, and the pink bows would flutter tremulously, 
like the last three leaves on a bare scarlet maple 
in autumn. In fact, dear reader, gossip , like ro- 
mance, has its noble side to it. How can you 
love your neighbor as yourself and not feel a little 
curiosity as to how he fares, what he wears, where 
he goes, and how he takes the great life tragi- 
comedy at which you and he are both more than 
spectators ? Show me a person who lives in a 
country village absolutely without curiosity or in- 
terest on these subjects, and I will show you a 
cold, fat oyster, to whom the tide-mud of propriety 
is the whole of existence. 

As one of our esteemed c< llaborators in the At 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


198 


la nt i c remarks, — “A dull town, wheie there is 
neither theatre nor circus nor opera, must have 
some excitement, and the real tragedy and comedy 
of life must come in place of the second-hand 
Hence the noted gossiping propensities of country- 
places, which, so long as they are not poisoned by 
envy or ill-will, have a respectable and picturesque 
side to them, — an undoubted leave to be, as prob- 
ably has almost everything, which obstinately and 
always insists on being, except sin ! ” 

As it is, it must be confessed that the arrival 
of Miss Prissy in a family was much like the set- 
ting up of a domestic show-case, through which 
you could look into all the families of the neigh- 
borhood, and see the never-ending drama of life, — 
births, marriages, deaths, — joy of new-made moth- 
ers, whose babes weighed just eight pounds and 
three quarters, and had hair that would part with 
a comb, — and tears of Rachels who wept for their 
children, and would not be comforted because they 
were not. Was there a tragedy, a mystery, in all 
Newport, whose secret closet had not been un- 
locked by Miss Prissy ? She thought not ; and you 
always vmndered, with an uncertain curiosity, what 
those things might be over which she gravely shook 
her head declaring, with such a look, — “ Oh, if 
you only could know!’* '—and ending with a gen- 
eral sigh and lamentation, like the confidential 
chorus of a Greek Uu&~dy. 


194 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


We have been thus minute in sketching Miss 
Prissy’s portrait, because we rather like her. 8he 
has great power, we admit ; and were she a sour- 
faced, angular, energetic body, with a heart whose 
secretions had all become acrid by disappointment 
and dyspepsia, she might be a fearful gnome 
against whose family visitations one ought to 
watch and pray. As it was, she came into the 
house rather like one of those breezy days of 
spring, which burst all the blossoms, set all the 
doors and windows open, make the hens cackle 
and the turtles peep, — filling a solemn Puritan 
dwelling with as much bustle and chatter as if 
a box of martins were setting up housekeeping 
in it. 

Let us now introduce you to the sanctuary of 
Mrs. Scudder’s own private bedroom, where the 
committee of exigencies, with Miss Prissy at their 
head, are seated in solemn session around the 
camphor-wood trunk. 

“Dress, you know, is of some importance, after 
all,” said Mrs. Scuddtr, in that apologetic way in 
which sensible people generally acknowledge a 
secret leaning towards anything so very mundane 
While the good lady spoke, she was reverentially 
unpinning and shaking out of their fragrant folds 
creamy crape shawls of rich Chinese embroidery 
— India musl in, scarfs, and aprons ; and already 
her hands were undoing the pins of a silvery 


l'HE MINISTERS WOOING. 19i) 

damask linen in which was wrapped her own 
wedding-dress. “I have always told Mary,” she 
continued, “ that, though our hearts ought not to 
be set on these things, yet they had their impor- 
tance.” 

u Certainly, certainly, Ma’am,” chimed in Miss 
Prissy. “ 1 was saying to Miss General Wilcox, 
the other day, I didn’t see how we could 4 con- 
sider the lilies of the field,’ without seeing the 
impoitance of looking pretty. I’ve got a flower- 
de-luce in my garden now, from one of the new 
roots that old Major Seaforth brought over from 
France, which is just the most beautiful thing 
you ever did see ; and I was thinking, as I looked 
at it to-day, that, if women’s dresses only grew 
on ’em as handsome and well-fitting as that, why, 
there wouldn’t be any need of me ; but as it is, 
why, we must think , if we want to look well. 
Now, peach-trees, I s’pose, might bear just as 
good peaches without the pink blows, but then 
who would want ’em to ? Miss Deacon Twitchel, 
when I was up there the other day, kept kind o 
sigliin’ ’cause Cerintht Ann is getting a new pink 
silk made up, ’cause she said it was such a dying 
world it didn’t seem right to call off our atten- 
tion : but I told her it wasn’t any pinker than 
the apple-blossoms ; and what witn robins and 
blue-birds and one thing or another, the Lord is 
always calling off our attention ; and I think w* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

ougnt to observe the Lord’s works and take a les- 
son fr:>m ’em.” 

“ Yes, you are quite right,” said Mrs. Sc udder 
rising and shaking out a splendid white brocade, 
on which bunches of moss-roses were looped ti 
bunches of violets by graceful fillets of blue rib 
bons. “ This was my wedding-dress,” she said. 

Little Miss Prissy sprang up and clapped hei 
hands in an ecstasy. 

“Well, now, Miss Scudder, really! — did 1 ever 
see anything more beautiful ? It really goes be- 
yond anything I ever saw. I don’t think, in all 
the brocades I ever made up, I ever saw so pretty 
a pattern as this.” 

“ Mr. Scudder chose it for me, himself, at thr 
silk-factory in Lyons,” said Mrs. Scudder, with 
pardonable pride, “ and I want it tried on to 
Mary.” 

“ Really, Miss Scudder, this ought to be kept 
for her wedding-dress,” said Miss Prissy, as she 
delightedly bustled about the congenial task. “ 1 
was up to Miss Marvyn’s, a-working, last week,’ 
she said, as she threw the dress over Mary’s head, 
“ and she said that James expected to make his 
fortune in that voyage, and come home and settle 
down.” 

Mary’s fair head emerged from the rustling folds 
of the brocade, her cheeks crimson as one of the 
tnos 2 -rose«j — while her mother’s face assumed a 


THE MINJSTEK’S WOOldG. 


197 


severe gravity, as she remarked that she believed 
James had been much pleased with Jane Spencer, 
and that, for her part, she should be very glad, 
when he came home, if he could marry such a 
steady, sensible girl, and settle down to a useful, 
Christian life. 

“ Ah, yes, — just so, — a very excellent idea, cer- 
tainly,” said Miss Prissy. “ It wants a little taken 
in here on the shoulders, and a little under the 
arms. The biases are all right; the sleeves will 
want altering, Miss Scudder. I hope you will 
have a hot iron ready for pressing.” 

Mrs. Scudder rose immediately, to see the com- 
mand obeyed; and as her back was turned, Miss 
Prissy went on in a low tone, — 

“ Now, i, for my part, don’t think there’s a word 
of truth in that story about James Marvyn and 
Jane Spencer ; for I was down there at work one 
day when he called, and I know there couldn’t 
have been anything between them, — besides, Miss 
Spencer, her mother, told me there wasn’t. — There, 
Miss Scudder, you see that is a good fit. It’s 
astonishing how near it comes to fitting, just as 
t was. I didn’t think Mary was so near what 
you were, when you were a girl, Miss Scudder. 
The other day, when I was up to General Wil- 
cox’s, the General he was in the room when I 
was a-trying on Miss Wilcox’s cherry velvet, and 
Bhe was asking couldn’t 1 come this week for her 


198 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


and I mentioned I was coming to Miss Scudder, 
and the General says he, — ‘I used to know hei 
when she was a girl. I tell you, she was one 
}f the handsomest girls n Newport, by George ! ’ 
says he. And says I,— ‘General, you ought to 
Bee her daughter.’ And the General, — you know 
his jolly way, — he laughed, and says he , — 1 If she 
is as handsome as her mother was, I don’t want 
to see her,’ says he. ‘ I tell you, wife,’ says he 
‘ I but just missed falling in love with Katy Ste- 
phens.’ ” 

“ I could have told her more than that,” said 
Mrs. Scudder, with a flash of her old coquette girl- 
hood for a moment lighting her eyes and straight- 
ening her lithe form. “ I guess, if I should show 

a letter he wrote me once But what am 1 

talking about?” she said, suddenly stiffening back 
into a sensible woman. “ Miss Prissy, do you 
think it will be necessary to cut it off at the bot- 
tom ? It seems a pity to cut such rich silk.” 

“ So it does, I declare. Well, I believe it will 
do to turn it up.” 

“ I depend on you to put it a little into mod 
ern fashion, you know,” said Mrs. Scudder. “ It 
is many a year, you know, since it was made.” 

“Oh, never you fear! You leave all that to 
me,” said Miss Prissy. “ Now, there never was 
inything so lucky as, that, just before all these 
vedding-dresses had to be fixed, J got a lettej 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


199 


from my sister Martha, that works for all the first 
families of Boston And Martha she is really un 
usually privileged, because she works for Miss 
Cranch, and Miss Cranch gets letters from Miss 
Adams, — you know Mr. Adams is Ambassador 
now at the Court of St. James, and Miss Adams 
writes home all the particulars about the court- 
dresses ; and Martha she heard one of the letters 
read, and she told Miss Cranch that she would 
give the best five-pound-note she had, if she could 
just copy that description to send to Prissy. Well, 
Miss Cranch let her do it, and I’ve got a copy of 
the letter here in my work-pocket. I read it up to 
Miss General Wilcox’s, and to Major Seaforth’s, 
and I’ll read it to you.” 

Mrs. Katy Scudder was a born subject of a 
crown, and, though now a republican matron, had 
not outlived the reverence, from childhood implant- 
ed, for the high and stately doings of courts, lords, 
ladies, queens, and princesses, and therefore it was 
not without some awe that she saw Miss Prissy 
produce from her little black work-bag the well- 
worn epistle. 

“ Here it is,” said Miss Prissy at last. “ I only 
copied out the parts about being presented at 
Court. She says : — 

“ t One is obliged here to attend the circles of 
Ihe Queen, which are held once a fortnight; and 
gvhat renders it very expensive is, that you cannot 


200 THE MINISTER’ & WOOING. 

go twice in the same dress, and a court-dress you 
cannot make use of elsewhere. I directed my 
mantua-maker to let my dress be elegant, bu 
plain as I could possibly appear with decency. 
Accordingly, it is white lutestring, covered and 
lull-trimmed with white crape, festooned with lilac 
ribbon and mock point-lace, over a hoop of enor- 
mous size. There is only a narrow train, about 
three yards in length to the gown- waist, which is 
put into a ribbon on the left side, — the Queen 
only having her train borne. Ruffled cuffs for mar- 
ried ladies, — treble lace ruffles, a very dress cap 
with long lace lappets, two white plumes, and a 
blonde lace handkerchief. This is my rigging/ ” 

Miss Prissy here stopped to adjust her spec- 
tacles. Her audience expressed a breathless in- 
terest. 

“ You see,” she said, “ I used to know her when 
she was Nabby Smith. She was Parson Smith’s 
daughter, at Weymouth, and as handsome a girl 
as ever I wanted to see, — just as graceful as a 
sweet-brier bush. I don’t believe any of those Eng- 
lish ladies looked one bit better than she did. She 
was always a master-hand at writing. Everything 
she writes about, she puts it right before you 
You feel as if you’d been there. Now, here she 
goes on to tell about her daughter’s dress. Shu 
*ays : — 

4 ' ‘ My .lead is dressed for St. James’s, .and in 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


201 


my opinion looks very tasty. Whilst my daugh- 
ter is undergoing the same operation, I set myself 
down composedly to write you a few lines. Well 
methinks I hear Betsey and Lucy say, “ What is 
cousin’s dress ? ” White , my dear girls, like your 
aunt’s, only differently trimmed and ornamented, — 
her train being wholly of white crape, and trim- 
med with white ribbon ; the petticoat, which ia 
the most showy part of the dress, covered and 
drawn up in what are called festoons, with light 
wreaths of beautiful flowers ; the sleeves, white 
crape drawn over the silk, with a row of lace 
round the sleeve near the shoulder, another half- 
way down the arm, and a third upon the top of 
the ruffle, — a little stuck between, — a kind of 
hat-cap with three large feathers and a bunch of 
flowers, — a wreath of flowers on the hair.’” 

Miss Prissy concluded this relishing description 
with a little smack of the lips, such as people 
sometimes give when reading things that are par- 
ticularly to their taste. 

“ Now, I was a-thinking,” she added, “ that if 
would be an excellent way to trim Mary’s sleeves, 
— three rows of lace, with a sprig to each row.” 

All this while, our Mary, with her white short- 
gown and blue stuff-petticoat, her shining pale 
brown hair and serious large blue eyes, sat inno- 
cently looking first at her mother then at Mis? 
Prissy, and then at the finery. 


902 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

We do not claim for her any superhuman ex- 
emption from girlish feelings. She was innocently 
dazzled with the vision of courtly halls and prince- 
ly splendors, and thought Mrs. Adams’s descrip- 
tions almost a perfect realization of things she haa 
read in “ Sir Charles Grandison.” If her mother 
thought it right and proper she should be dressed 
and made fine, she was glad of it; only there came 
a heavy, leaden feeling L: her little heart, which 
she did not understand, but we who know woman- 
kind will translate it for you; it was, that a cer- 
tain pair of dark eyes would not see her after she 
was dressed ; and so, after all, what was the use 
of looking pretty? 

u I wonder what James would think,” passed 
through her head; for Mary had never changed a 
ribbon, or altered the braid of her hair, or pinned 
a flower in her bosom, that she had not quickly 
seen the effect of the change mirrored in those 
dark eyes. It was a pity, of course, now she had 
found out that she ought not to think about him, 
that so many thought-strings were twisted round 
him. 

So while Miss Prissy turned over her papers, 
and read out of others extracts about Lord Caer- 
marthen and Sir Clement Cotterel Dormer and 
the Princess Royal and Princess Augusta, in black 
and silver, with a silver netting upon the coat, ana 
a head stuck full of diamond pins, — and I me iy 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


203 


Salisbury and Lady Talbot and the Duchess of 
Devonshb 3, and scarlet satin sacks and diamonds 
and ostrich-plumes, and the King’s kissing Mrs. 
Adams,— ■ little Mary’s blue eyes grew larger and 
larger, seeing far off on the salt green sea, and her 
ears heard only the ripple and murmur of those 
waters that carried her heart away, — till, by-and- 
by, Miss Prissy gave her a smart little tap, which 
awakened her to the fact that she was wanted 
again to try on the dress which Miss Prissy’s nim- 
ble fingers had basted. 

So passed the day, — Miss Prissy busily chatter- 
ing, clipping, basting, — Mary patiently trying on 
to an unheard-of extent, — and Mrs. Scudder’s neat 
room whipped into a perfect froth and foam of 
gauze, lace, artificial flowers, linings, and other 
aids, accessories, and abetments. 

At dinner, the Doctor, who had been all the 
morning studying out his Treatise on the Millen- 
nium, discoursed tranquilly as usual, innocently ig- 
norant of the unusual cares which were distract- 
ing the minds of his listeners. What should he 
know of dress-makers, good soul ? Encouraged 
by the respectful silence of his auditors, he calmly 
expanded and soliloquized on his favorite topic, 
the last golden age of Time, the Marriage- Supper 
of the Lamb, when the purified Earth, like a re- 
pentant Psyche, shall be restored to the long-lost 
c avor of a celestial Bridegroom, and glorified saint* 


204 


THE MINISTER'S BOOING. 


and angels shall walk familiarly as wedding-guest* 
among men 

“ Sakes alive ! ” said little Miss Prissy, after din- 
ner, “ did I ever hear any one go on like that 
blessed man ? — such a spiritual mind ! Oh, Miss 
Scudder, how you are privileged in having him 
here ! I do really think it is a shame such a 
blessed man a’n’t thought more of. Why, I could 
just sit and hear him talk all day. Miss Scudder, 
I wish sometimes you’d just let me make a ruffled 
shirt for him, and do it all up myself, and put a 
stitch in the hem that I learned from my sister 
Martha, who learned it from a French young ladj 
who was educated in a convent; — nuns, you know, 
poor things, can do some things right ; and I thinfc 
I never saw such hemstitching as they do there 
— and I should like to hemstitch the Doctor’s rul- 
fles ; he is so spiritually-minded, it really makes 
me love him. Why, hearing him talk put me in 
mind of a real beautiful song of Mr. Watts, — I 
don’t know as I could remember the tune.” 

And Miss Prissy, whose musical talent was one 
of her special forte s, tuned her voice, a little crack- 
ed and quavering, and sang, with a vigorous accent 
on each accented syllable, — 

“ From the third heaven, where God resides, 

That holy, happy place, 

The New Jerusalem comes down, 

Aiorned with shining grace. 


THE MINISTER’S BOOING. 2l)5 

“ Attending angels shout for joy, 

And the bright armies sing, — 

‘Mortals! behold the sacred seat 
Of your descending King!’” 

K Take care, Miss Scudder ! — that silk must be 
cut exactly on the bias”; and Miss Prissy, hastily 
finishing her last quaver, caught the silk and the 
scissors out of Mrs. Scudder’s hand, and fell down 
at once from tfye Millennium into a discourse oil 
her own particular way of covering piping-cord. 

So we go, dear reader, — so long as we have a 
body and a soul. Two worlds must mingle, — the 
great and the little, the solemn and the trivial, 
wreathing in and out, like the grotesque carvings 
on a Gothic shrine ; — only, did we know it 
rightly, nothing is trivial; since the human soul, 
with its awful shadow, makes all things sacred. 
Have not ribbons, cast-off flowers, soiled bits of 
gauze, trivial, trashy fragments of millinery, some- 
times had an awful meaning, a deadly power, 
when they belonged to one who should wear them 
no more, and whose beautiful form, frail and 
crushed as they, is a hidden and a vanished thing 
for all time ? For so sacred and individual is a 
human being, that, of all the million-peopled earth, 
no one form ever restores another. The mould of 
each mortal type is broken at the grave; and nev- 
er, never, though you look through all the faces 
s>n earth, shall the exact form you mourn evei 


806 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


meet your eyes again! You are living your daily 
life among trifles that one death-stroke may make 
relics. One false step, one luckless accident, an 
obstacle on the track of a train, the tangling of 
the cord in shifting a sail, and the penknife, the 
pen, the papers, the trivial articles of dress and 
clothing, which to-day you toss idly and jestingly 
from hand to hand, may become dread memorials 
of that awful tragedy whose deep abyss ever 
de dies our common life. 


< 



THE MINISTER’S WOOEN* 


207 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PARTY. 

Well, let us proceed to tell how the eventful 
evening drew on, — how Mary, by Miss Prissy’s 
care, stood at last in a long-waisted gown flow- 
ered with rose-buds and violets, opening in front 
to display a white satin skirt trimmed with lace 
and flowers, — how her little feet were put into 
high-heeled shoes, and a little jaunty cap with a 
wreath of moss-rose-buds was fastened over her 
shining hair, — and how Miss Prissy, delighted, 
turned her round and round, and then declared 
that she must go and get the Doctor to look at 
her. She knew he must be a man of taste, he 
talked so beautifully about the Millennium ; and 
so, bursting into his study, she actually chattered 
him back into the visible world, and, leading the 
blushing Mary tc the door, asked him, point-blank, 
if he ever saw anything prettier. 

The Doctor, being now wide awake, gravely 
gave his miffd to the subject, and, after some con- 
sideration, said, gravely, “ No, — he didn’t think he 


208 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ever did.” For the Doctor was not a man of com- 
pliment, and had a habit of always thinking, be- 
fore he spoke, whether what he was going to say 
was exactly true ; and having lived some time in 
die family of President Edwards, renowned for 
beautiful daughters, he naturally thought them 
over. 

The Doctor looked innocent and helpless, while 
Miss Prissy, having got him now quite into her 
power, went on volubly to expatiate on the diffi- 
culties overcome in adapting the ancient wedding- 
dress to its present modern fit. He told her that 
it was very nice, — said, “Yes, Ma’am,” at proper 
places, — and, being a very obliging man, looked 
at whatever he was directed to, with round, blank 
eyes ; but ended all with a long gaze on the laugh- 
ing, blushing face, that, half in shame and half in 
perplexed mirth, appeared and disappeared as Miss 
Prissy in her warmth turned her round and showed 
her. 

“ Now don’t she look beautiful ? ” Miss Prissy 
reiterated for the twentieth time, as Mary left the 
room. 

The Doctor, looking after her musingly, said to 
himself, — “‘The king’s daughter is all glorious 
within ; her clothing is of wrought gold ; she shal' 
be brought unto the king in raiment of needle, 
work.’ ” 9 

“ Now, did I ever ? ” said Miss Prissy, rushing 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 20 

out. “ How that good man does turn everything ! 
1 believe you couldn’t get anything, that he wouldn’t 
find a text right out of the Bible about it. I mean 
to get the linen for that shirt this very week, with 
the Miss Wilcox’s money ; they always pay well, 
those Wilcoxes, — and I’ve worked for them, off 
and on, sixteen days and a quarter To be sure, 
Miss Scudder, there’s no real need of my doing it, 
for I must say you keep him looking like a pink, — 
but only I feel as if I must do something for such 
a good man.” 

The good doctor was brushed up for the even- 
ing with zealous care and energy ; and if he did 
not look like a pink, it was certainly no fault of 
his hostess. 

Well, we cannot reproduce in detail the faded 
glories of that entertainment, nor relate how the 
Wilcox Manor and gardens were illuminated, — 
how the bride wore a veil of real point-lace, — how 
carriages rolled and grated on the gravel walks, 
and negro servants, in white kid gloves, handed 
out ladies in velvet and satin. 

To Mary’s inexperienced eye it seemed like an 
enchanted dream, — a realization of all she had 
dreamed of grand and high society. She had her 
little triumph of an evening for everybody asked 
who that beautiful girl was, and more than one 
gallant of the old Newport first families felt him 
self adorned and distinguished to walk with hc» 


£10 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

on his arm. Busy, officious dowagers repeated t< 
Mis. Scudder the applauding whispers that followed 
her wherever she went. 

“ Really, Mrs. Scudder,” said gallant old Gen- 
eral Wilcox, “ where have you kept such a beauty 
all this time ? It’s a sin and a shame to hide 
such a light under a bushel.” 

And Mrs. Scudder, though, of course, like you 
and me, sensible reader, properly apprised of the 
perishable nature of such fleeting honors, was, like 
us, too, but a mortal, and smiled condescendingly 
on the follies of the scene. 

The house was divided by a wide hall opening 
by doors, the front one upon the street, the back 
into a large garden, the broad central walk of 
which, edged on each side with high clipped hedges 
of box, now resplendent with colored lamps, seemed 
to continue the prospect in a brilliant vista. 

The old-fashioned garden was lighted in every 
part, and the company dispersed themselves about 
it in picturesque groups. 

We have the image in our mind of Mary as she 
stood with her little hat and wreath of rose-buds, 
her fluttering ribbons and rich brocade, as it were 
a picture framed in the door-way, with her back 
to the illuminated garden, and her calm, innocent 
face regarding with a pleased wonder the unaccus* 
tomed gayeties within. 

Her dress, which, under Miss Prissy’s forming 


THE MINISTER’S WOOlNu. 


211 


Hand, had been made to assume that appearance 
of style and fashion which more particularly char 
aclerized the mode of those times, formed a singular, 
but not unpleasing contrast to the sort of dewy 
freshness of air and mien which was characteristic 
of her style of beauty. It seemed so to represent 
a being who was in the world, yet not of it. — 
who, though living habitually in a higher region 
of thought and feeling, was artlessly curious, and 
innocently pleased with a fresh experience in an 
altogether untried sphere. The feeling of being in 
a circle to which she did not belong, where her 
presence was in a manner an accident, and where 
she felt none of the responsibilities which come 
from being a component part of a society, gave to 
her a quiet, disengaged air, which produced all the 
effect of the perfect ease of high breeding. 

While she stands there, there comes out of the 
door of the bridal reception-room a gentleman with 
a stylishly-dressed lady on either arm, with whom 
he seems wholly absorbed. He is of middle height, 
peculiarly graceful in form and moulding, with that 
indescribable air of high breeding which marks the 
polished man of the world. His beautifully-formed 
head, delicate profile, fascinating sweetness of smile, 
and, above all, an eye which seemed to have an 
almost mesmeric power of attraction, were traits 
which distinguished one of the most celebrated 
men of the time, and one whose peculiar history 


*12 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


yet lives not only in our national records, but in 
f he private annals of many an American family. 

“ Good Heavens ! ” he said, suddenly pausing in 
conversation, as his eye accidentally fell upon Mary. 
“ Who is that lovely creature ? ” 

“ Oh, that,” said Mrs. Wilcox, — “why, that is 
Mary Scudder. Her father was a family connec- 
tion of the General’s. The family are in rather 
modest circumstances, but highly respectable.” 

After a few moments more of ordinary chit- 
chat, in which from time to time ne darted upon 
her glances of rapid and piercing observation, the 
gentleman might have been observed to disembar- 
rass himself of one of the ladies on his arm, by 
passing her with a compliment and a bow to an- 
other gallant, and, after a few moments more, he 
spoke something to Mrs. Wilcox, in a low voice, 
and with that gentle air of deferential sweetness 
which always made everybody well satisfied to do 
his will. The consequence was, that in a few 
moments Mary was startled from her calm specu- 
lations by the voice of Mrs. Wilcox, saying at 
her elbow, in a formal tone, — 

“ Miss Scudder, I have the honor to present to 
your acquaintance Colonel Burr, of the United 
States Senate.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


213 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AARON BURR. 

At the period of which we are speaking, no 
name in the New Republic was associated with 
ideas of more brilliant promise, and invested with 
a greater prestige of popularity and success, than 
that of Colonel Aaron Burr; 

Sprung of a line distinguished for intellectual 
ability, the grandson of a man whose genius has 
swayed New England from that day to this, the 
son of parents eminent in their day for influen- 
tial and popular talents, he united in himself the 
quickest perceptions and keenest delicacy of fibre 
with the most diamond hardness and unflinch- 
ing steadiness of purpose ; — apt, subtle, adroit, daz- 
zling, no man in his time ever began life with 
fairer chances of success and fame. 

His name, as it fell on the ear of our heroine, 
carried with it the suggestion of all this ; and 
when, with his peculiarly engaging smile, he 
offered his arm, she felt a little of the flutter nat* 
Ural to a modest young person unexpectedly hon 


214 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ored with the notice of one of the great ones of 
the earth, whom it is seldom the lot of humble 
individuals to know, except by distant report. 

But, although Mary was a blushing and sensi- 
tive person, she was not what is commonly called 
a diffident girl ; — her nerves had that healthy, 
steady poise which gave her presence of mind in 
the most unwonted circumstances. 

The first few sentences addressed to her by hei 
new companion were in a tone and style alto- 
gether different from any in which she had ever 
been approached, — different from the dashing frank- 
ness of her sailor lover, and from the rustic gal- 
lantry of her other admirers. 

That indescribable mixture of ease and defer- 
ence, guided by refined tact, which shows the 
piactised, high-bred man of the world, made its 
impression on her immediately, as a breeze on the 
chords of a wind-harp. She felt herself pleasantly 
swayed and breathed upon; — it was as if an at- 
mosphere were around her in which she felt a 
perfect ease and freedom, an assurance that her 
lightest word might launch forth safely, as a tiny 
boat, on the smooth, glassy mirror of her listener’s 
pleased attention. 

“ I came to Newport only on a visit of busi- 
ness, ” he said, after a few moments of introduc- 
tory conversation. “ I was not prepared for it* 
many attractions.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 2 U 

“ Newport has a great deal of beautiful scen- 
ery ” said Mary. 

“ I have heard that it was celebrated for the 
beauty of its scenery, and of its ladies,” he an- 
swered ; “ but,” he added, with a quick flash of 
his dark eye, “ I never realized the fact before.” 

The glance of the eye pointed and limited th8 
compliment, and, at the same time, there was a 
wary shrewdness in it; — he was measuring how 
deep his shaft had sunk, as he always instinctively 
measured the person he talked with. 

Mary had been told of her beauty since her 
childhood, notwithstanding her mother had essayed 
all that transparent, respectable hoaxing by which 
discreet mothers endeavor to blind their daughters 
to the real facts of such cases; but, in her own 
calm, balanced mind, she had accepted what she 
was so often told, as a _quiet verity ; and there- 
fore she neither fluttered nor blushed on this occa- 
sion, but regarded the speaker with a pleased 
attention, as one who was saying obliging things. 

“Cool!” he thought to himself, — “hum! — a 
little rustic belle, I suppose, — well aware of hei 
own value ; — rather piquant, on my word ! ” 

“ Shall we walk in the garden ? ” he said, — 
the evening is so oeautifil.” 

They passed out of the door and began prom- 
enading the long walk. At the bottom of the 
alley he stopped, and, turning, looked up the vista 


216 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


of box ending in the brilliantly-lighted rooms, 
where gentlemen, with powdered heads, lace ruf- 
fles, and glittering knee-buckles, were handing 
ladies in stiff brocades, whose towering heads 
were shaded by ostrich-feathers and sparkling with 
gems. 

“ Quite court-like, on my word ! ” he said. u Tell 
me, do you often have such brilliant entertain- 
ments as this ? ” 

“ I suppose they do,” said Mary. “ I never was 
at one before, but I sometimes hear of them.” 

“ And you do not attend ? ” said the gentleman, 
with an accent which made the inquiry a marked 
compliment. 

“ No, I do not,” said Mary ; “ these people gen- 
erally do not visit us.” 

“ What a pity,” he said, “ that their parties 
should want such an orpament! But,” he added, 
“this night must make them aware of their over- 
sight; — if you are not always in society after 
this, it will surely not be for want of solicita- 
tion.” 

“ You are very kind to think so,” replied Mary, 
1 but even if it were to be so, I should not see 
my way clear to be often in such scenes as this.” 

Her companion looked at her with a glance a 
little doubtful and amused, and said, *' And pray 
Why not? if the inquiry be not too presump 
tuous.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 2W 

‘ Because,” said Mary, “ I should be afraid they 
would take too much time and thought, and lead 
me to forget the great object of life.” 

The simple gravity with which this was said, 
a* if quite assured of the sympathy of her audi- 
toi, appeared to give him a secret amusement. 
IBs bright, dark eyes danced, as if he suppressed 
some quick repartee ; but, drooping his long lashes 
deferentially, he said, in gentle tones, “ I should 
like to know what so beautiful a young lady con- 
siders the great object of life.” 

Mary answered reverentially, in those words then 
familiar from infancy to every Puritan child, “ To 
glorify God, and enjoy Him forever.” 

“Really?” he said, looking straight into her 
eyes with that penetrating glance with which he 
was accustomed to take the gauge of every one 
with whom he conversed. 

“Is it not?” said Mary, looking back, calm and 
tan, into the sparkling, restless depths of his 
eyes. 

At that moment, two souls, going with the 
whole force of their being in opposite directions, 
looked out of their windows at each other with a 
fixed and earnest recognition. 

Burr was practised in every art of gallantry,— 
he had made womankind a study, — he never saw 
a beautiful face and form without a sort of rest- 
ess desire to experiment upon it and try his 
10 


2] 8 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


power over the interior inhabitant ; but, just a 
this moment, something streamed into his sou< 
from those blue, earnest eyes, which brought back 
to his mind what pious people had to often told 
him of his mother, the oeautiful and early-sainted 
Esther Burr. He was one of those persons who 
systematically managed and played upon himselt 
and others, as a skilful musician, and on an in 
strument. Yet one secret of his fascination was 
the naivete with which, at certain moments, he 
would abandon himself to some little impulse of 
a nature originally sensitive and tender. Had the 
strain of feeling which now awoke in him come 
over him elsewhere, he would have shut down 
some spring in his mind, and excluded it in a 
moment; but, talking with a beautiful creature 
whom he wished to please, he gave way at once 
to the emotion; — real tears stood in his fine eyes, 
and he raised Mary’s hand to his lips, and kissed 
it, saying,— 

“ Thank you, my beautiful child, for so good a 
thought. It is truly a noble sentiment, though 
practicable only to those gifted with angelic na- 
tures.” 

“ Oh, I trust not,” said Mary, earnestly touched 
and wrought upon, more than she herself knew 
by the beautiful eyes, the modulated voice, the 
i harm of manner, which seemed to enfold he 
!ike an Italian summer. 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


219 


Burr sighed, — a real sigh of his better nature, 
but passed out with all the more freedom that he 
felt it would interest his fair companion, who, for 
the lime being, was the one woman of the world 
I o him. 

u Pure and artless souls like yours,” he said, 
il cannot measure the temptation* of those who are 
called to the real battle of life in a world like this. 
How many nobler aspirations fall withered in the 
fierce heat and struggle of the conflict ! ” 

He was saying then what he really felt, often 
bitterly felt, — but using 1 this real feeling advisedly, 
and with skilful tact, for the purpose of the hour. 

What was this purpose ? To win the regard, 
the esteem, the tenderness of a religious, exalted 
nature shrined in a beautiful form, — to gain and 
hold ascendency. It was a life-long habit, — one 
of those forms of refined self-indulgence which he 
pursued, thoughtless and reckless of consequences. 
He had found now the key-note of the character; 
it was a beautiful instrument, and he was well 
pleased to play on it. 

“I think, Sir,” said Mary, modestly, “that you 
forget the great provision made for our weakness.” 

“ How ? ” he said. 

“ They that wait on the Lord shaL 1 renew their 
strength,” she replied, gently 

He looked at her, as she spoke these words, 
vith a pleased, artistic perception of thf contrast 


i HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

between her worldly attire and the simple, relig 
ious earnestness of her words. 

“ She is entrancing ! ” he thought to himself, — * 
“ so altogetlier fresh and naive ! ” 

“ My sweet saint, 1 ” he said, “ such as you are 
the appointed guardians of us coarser beings. The 
prayers of souls given up to worldliness and ambi- 
tion effect little. You must intercede for us. I 
am very orthodox, you see,” he added, with that 
subtle smile which sometimes irradiated his fea- 
tures. “ I am fully aware of all that your rev- 
erend doctor tells you of the worthlessness of un- 
regenerate doings ; and so, when I see angels 
walking below, I try to secure ‘a friend at court.’” 

He saw that Mary looked embarrassed and 
pained at this banter, and therefore added, with a 
delicate shading of earnestness, — 

“ In truth, my fair young friend, I hope you will 
sometimes pray for me. I am sure, if I have any 
chance of good, it will come in such a way.” 

“ Indeed I will,” said Mary, fervently, — her lit- 
i e heart full, tears in her eyes, her breath coming 
quick, — and she added, with a deepening color 
“ I am sure, Mr. Burr, that there should be a cov- 
enant blessing for you, if for any one, for you ar 
the son of a holy ancestry.” 

“ Eh, bien , mon ami , qu'est ce que tu fais ici ? 
said a gay voice behind a clump of box , and im 
mediately there started out, like a French pictur 


THE MINISTERS WOOING 


221 


from its frame, a dark-eyea figure, pressed like a 
Marquise of Louis XIV.’s time, with powdered 
hair, sparkling with diamonds. 

b< Rien que m’amuser ,” he replied, with ready 
presence of mind, in the same tone, and then 
added, — “Permit me, Madame, to present to you 
a charming specimen of our genuine New Eng- 
land flowers. Miss Scudder, I have the honor to 
present you to the acquaintance of Madame de 
Frontignac.’ , 

“ I am very happy,” said the lady, with that 
sweet, lisping accentuation of English which well 
became her lovely mouth. “ Miss Scudder, I hope, 
is very well.” 

Mary replied in the affirmative, — her eyes rest- 
ing the while with pleased admiration on the 
graceful, animated face and diamond-bright eyes 
which seemed looking her through. 

“ Monsieur la trouve bien sSduisante apparem- 
ment ,” said the stranger, in a low, rapid voice, to 
the gentleman, in a manner which showed a min- 
gling of pique and admiration. 

“ Petite jalouse ! rassure-toi” he replied, with a 
look and manner into which, with that mobile 
.orce which was peculiar to him, he threw the 
most tender and passionate devotion. “ Ne suis-je 
pas a toi tout d fait?’ 1 — and as he spoke, he of- 
fered her his other arm. u Allow me to be an 
unworthy link between the beaut) )f France anti 
America.” 


222 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


The lady swept a proud curtsy backward, bri* 
died her beautiful neck, and signed for them to 
pass her. “ T am waiting here for a friend,” she 
said. 

“ Whatever is your will is mine,” replied Burr 
bowing with proud humility, and passing on with 
Mary to the supper-room. 

Here the company were fast assembling, in that 
high tide of good-humor which generally sets in 
at this crisis of the evening. 

The scene, in truth, was a specimen of a range 
of society which in those times could have been 
assembled nowhere else but in Newport. There 
stood Dr. Hopkins in the tranquil majesty of his 
lordly form, and by his side, the alert, compact 
figure of his contemporary and theological oppo- 
nent, Dr. Stiles, who, animated by the social spirit 
of the hour, was dispensing courtesies to right and 
left with the debonair grace of the trained gentle- 
man of the old school. Near by, and engaging 
from time to time in conversation with them, 
stood a Jewish Rabbin, whose olive complexion, 
keen eye, and flowing beard gave a picturesque 
and foreign grace to the scene. Colonel Burr, one 
of the most brilliant and distinguished men of the 
New Republic, and Colonel de Frontignac, who 
had won for himself laurels in the corps of La 
Fayette, during the recent revolutionary stiug* 
gle, with his brilliant aceomplished wife, were al' 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


223 


unexpected and distinguished additions to the cir« 
cle. 

Burr gently cleared the way for his fair compan- 
ion, and, purposely placing her where the full 
light of the wax chandeliers set off her beauty to 
the best advantage, devoted himself to her with a 
subserviency as deferential as if she had been a 
goddess. 

For all that, he was rot unobservant, when, a 
few moments after, Maa.ame de Frontignac was 
led in, on the arm of a Senator, with whom she 
was presently in full flirtation. 

He observed, with a quiet, furtive smile, that, 
while she rattled and fanned herself, and listened 
with apparent attention to the flatteries addressed 
to her, she darted every now and then a glance, 
keen as a steel blade towards him and his com- 
panion. He was perfectly adroit in playing off 
one woman against another, and it struck him 
with a pleasant sense of oddity, how perfectly un- 
conscious his sweet and saintly neighbor was of 
the position in which she was supposed to stand 
by her rival ; and poor Mary, all this while, in her 
simplicity, really thought that she had seen traces 
of what she would have called the “strivings of 
the spirit ” in his soul. Alas ! that a phrase 
weighed down with such mysterious truth and 
meaning should evei come to fall on the ea? as 
mere empty cant? 


224 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


With Mary it was a living form, — as were all 
Qer words ; for in nothing was the Puritan educa- 
tion more marked than in the earnest reality and 
truthfulness which it gave to language ; and even 
now, as she stands by his side, her large blue eye 
is occasionally fixed in dreamy reverie as she 
thinks what a triumph of Divine grace it would 
be, if these inward movings of her companion’s 
mind should lead him, as all the pious of New 
England hoped, to follow in the footsteps of Pres- 
ident Edwards, and forms wishes that she could 
see him some time when she could talk to him 
undisturbed. 

She was too humble and too modest fully to 
accept the delicious flattery which he had breath- 
ed, in implying that her hand had had power to 
unseal the fountains of good in his soul ; but still 
it thrilled through all the sensitive strings of her 
nature a tremulous flutter of suggestion. 

She had read instances of striking and wondei 
ful conversions from words dropped by children 
and women, — and suppose some such thing should 
happen to her! and that this so charming and dis- 
tinguished and powerful being should be called 
into the fold of Christ’s Church by her means f 
No it was too much to be hoped, — but the very 
possibility was thrilling. 

When, after supper, Mrs. Scudder and the Doc* 
or made their adieus, Burr’s devotion >yas stib 


THE MINISTER'S WOOINO. 


225 


anabalej. With an enchanting mixture of rever- 
ence and fatherly protection, he waited on her to 
Ihe last, — shawled her with delicate care, and 
Handed her into the small, one-horse wagon, — as 
if it had been the coach of a duchess. 

“ I have pleasant recollections connected with 
this kind of establishment,” he said, as, after look- 
ing carefully at the harness, he passed the reins 
into Mrs. Scudder’s hands. “ It reminds me of 
school-days and old times. I hope your horse is 
quite safe, Madam.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Scudder, “ I perfectly un- 
derstand him.” 

“Pardon the suggestion,” he replied; — “what is 
there that a New England matron does not under- 
stand ? Doctor, I must call by-and-by, and have a 
little talk with you, — my theology, you know, 
needs a little straightening.” 

“ We should all be happy to see you, Colonel 
Burr,” said Mrs. Scudder ; “ we live in a very 
plain way, it is true,” 

“But can always find place for a friend, — that, 
I trust, is what you meant to say,” he replied, 
bowing, with his own peculiar grace, as the car 
riage drove off. 

« Really, a most charming person is this Colonei 
Bun*,” said Mrs. Scudder. 

“ He seems a very frank, ingenuous young per- 
son,” said the Doctor; “one cannot but mourn 
10 * 


m THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

that the son of such gracious parents should be 
left to wander into infidelity.” 

“ Oh, he is not an infidel,” said Mary ; “ he is 
tar from it, though I think his mind is a little 
darkened on some points.” 

“Ah,” said the Doctor, “ have you had any spe- 
cial religious conversation with him ? ” 

“A little,” said Mary blushing ; “ and it seems 
to me that his mind is perplexed somewhat in re- 
gard to the doings of the unregenerate, — I fear that 
it has lather proved a stumbling-block in his way; 
but he showed so much feeling! — I could really 
see the tears in his eyes ! ” 

“ His mother was a most godly woman, Mary,” 
said the Doctor. “ She was called from her youth, 
and her beautiful person became a temple for the 
indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Aaron Burr is a 
child of many prayers, and therefore there is hope 
that he may yet be effectually called. He studied 
awhile with Bellamy,” he added, musingly, “ and I 
have often doubted whether Bellamy took just the 
right course with him.” 

“ I hope he will call and talk with you,” said 
Mary, earnestly ; “ what a blessing to the world, 
if such talents as his could become wholly conse- 
crated ! ” 

“ Not many wise, not many mighty, not many 
noble are called,” said the Doctor ; " yet if it would 
please the Lord to employ my instrumentality and 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


227 


prayers, how much should I rejoice ! I was struck,” 
he added, u to-night, wnen I saw those Jews pres- 
ent, with the thought that it was, as it were, a 
type of that last ingathering, when both Jew and 
Gentile shall sit down lovingly together to the 
gospel feast. It is only by passing over and for- 
getting these present years, when so few are called 
and the gospel makes such slow progress, and 
looking unto that glorious time, that I find com- 
fort. If the Lord but use me as a dumb stepping- 
stone to that heavenly Jerusalem, I shall be con- 
tent.” 

Thus they talked while the wagon jogged soberly 
homeward, and the frogs and the turtles and the 
distant ripple of the sea made a drowsy, mingling 
concert in the summer-evening air. 

Meanwhile Colonel Burr had returned to the 
lighted rooms, and it was not long before his quick 
eye espied Madame de Frontignac standing pen- 
sively in a window-recess, half hid by the curtain 
He stole softly up behind her and whispered some- 
thing in her ear. 

In a moment she turned on him a face glowing 
with anger, and drew back haughtily; but Bun 
remarked the glitter of tears, not quite dried even 
by the angry flush of her eyes. 

“ In what have I had the misfortune to offend ? ’ 
he said, crossing his arms upon his br:ast. w 1 
stand at the bar, and plead. N'd guilty.” 


i28 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


He spoke in French, and she replied in tcs 
same smooth accents, — 

w It was not for her to dispute Monsieur’s right 
to amuse himself.” 

Burr drew nearer, and spoke in those persuasive, 
pleading tones which he had ever at command, 
and in that language whose very structure in its 
delicate tutoiement gives such opportunity for glid- 
ing on through shade after shade of intimacy and 
tenderness, till gradually the haughty fire of the 
eyes was quenched in tears, and, in the sudden 
revulsion of a strong, impulsive nature, she said 
what she called words of friendship, but which 
carried with them all the warmth of that sacred 
fire which is given to woman to light and warm 
the temple of home, and which sears and scars 
when kindled for any other shrine. 

And yet this woman was the wife of his fri nd 
and associate ! 

Colonel de Frontignac was a grave and digni- 
fied man of forty-five. Virginie de Frontignac had 
been given him to wife when but eighteen, — 
a beautiful, generous, impulsive, wilful girl. She 
had accepted him gladly, for very substantial rea- 
sons. First, that she might come out of the con- 
vent where she was kept for the very purpose of 
educating her in ignorance of the world she was 
to live in. Second, that she might wear velvet, 
kce, cashmere, and jewels. Third, that she migh 


I HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


229 


be a Madame, free to go and come, ride, walk, 
and talk, without surveillance. Fourth, — and con- 
sequent upon this, — that she might go into com- 
pany and have admirers and adorers. 

She supposed, of course, that she loved her hus- 
band; — whom else should she love? He was the 
only man, except her father and brothers, that she 
had ever seen ; and in the fortnight that preceded 
their marriage did he not send her the most splen- 
did bon-bons every day, with bouquets of every 
pattern that ever taxed the brain of a Parisian ar- 
tiste ? — was not the corbeille de manage a wonder 
and an envy to all her acquaintance? — and after 
marriage had she not found him always a steady, 
indulgent friend, easy to be coaxed as any grave 
papa ? 

On his part, Monsieur de Frontignac cherished 
his young wife as a beautiful, though somewhat 
absurd little pet, and amused himself with her 
frolics and gambols, as the gravest person often 
will with those of a kitten. 

It was not until she knew Aaron Burr that 
poor Virginie de Frontignac came to that great 
awakening of her being which teaches woman 
what she is, and transforms her from a careless 
child to a deep-hearted, thinking, suffering human 
being. 

For the first time, in his society she became 
aware of the charm of a polished and cultivated 


830 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

mind, able with exquisite tact to adapt itself to 
hers, to draw forth her inquiries, to excite lief 
tastes, to stimulate her observation. A new world 
awoke around her, — the world of literature and 
taste, of art and of sentiment ; she felt somehow 
as if she had gained the growth of years in a 
few months. She felt within herself the stirring 
of dim aspiration, the uprising of a new power of 
self-devotion and self-sacrifice, a trance of hero- 
worship, a cloud of high ideal images, — the light- 
ing up, in short, of all that God has laid, ready 
to be enkindled, in a woman’s nature, when the 
time comes to sanctify her as the pure priestess 
of a domestic temple. But, alas ! it was kindled 
by one who did it only for an experiment, because 
he felt an artistic pleasure in the beautiful light 
and heat, and cared not, though it burned a soul 
away. 

Burr was one of those men willing to play with 
any charming woman the game of those navi- 
gators who give to simple natives glass beads 
and feathers in return for gold and diamonds,— 
to accept from a woman her heart’s blood in re- 
turn for such odds and ends and clippings as he 
can afford her from the serious ambition of Hfe 

Look in with us one moment, now that the party 
is over, and the busy hum of voices and blaze of 
lights has died down to midnight silence and dark 
ness we make you clairvoyant, and you may look 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


231 


rliTough the walls of this stately old mansion, still 
known as that where Rochambean held his head- 
quarters, into this room, where two wax candies are 
ourning on a toilette table, before an old-fashioned 
mirror. The slumberous folds of the curtains are 
drawn with stately gloom around a high bed, where 
Colonel de Frontignac has been for many hours 
quietly asleep ; but opposite, resting with one elbow 
on the toilette table, her long black hair hanging 
down over hei night-dress, and the brush lying list- 
lessly in her hand, sits Virginie, looking fixedly into 
the dreamy depths of the mirror. 

Scarcely twenty yet, all unwarned of the world 
of power and passion that lay slumbering in her 
girl’s heart, led in the meshes of custom and society 
to utter vows and take responsibilities of whose na- 
ture she was no more apprised than is a slumbering 
babe, and now at last fully awake, feeling the whole 
power of that mysterious and awful force which we 
call love, yet shuddering to call it by its name, but 
by its light beginning to understand all she is capa- 
ble of, and all that marriage should have been to 
her ! She struggles feebly and confusedly with her 
fate, still clinging to the name of duty, and baptizing 
as friendship this strange new feeling which makes 
her tremble through all her being. How can she 
dream of danger in such a feeling, when it seems 
to her the awakening of all that is highest and no- 
blest within her? She remembers when she thought 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Wl 

of nothing beyond an opera-ticket or a new dress 
and now she feels that there might be to her a 
friend for whose sake she would try to be noble 
and great and good, — for whom all self-denial, all 
high endeavor, all difficult virtue would become 
possible, — who would be to her life, inspiration, 
order, beauty. 

She sees him as woman always sees the man she 
loves, — noble, great, and good; — for when did a 
loving woman ever believe a man otherwise ? — too 
noble, too great, too high, too good, she thinks, for 
her, — poor, trivial, ignorant coquette, — poor, child- 
ish, trifling Virginie ! Has he not commanded ar- 
mies? she thinks, — is he not eloquent in the sen- 
ate ? and yet what interest he has taken in her, a 
poor, unformed, ignorant creature! — she never tried 
to improve herself till since she knew him. And he 
is so considerate, too, — so respectful, so thoughtful 
and kind, so manly and honorable, and has such a 
tender friendship for her, such a brotherly and fath- 
erly solicitude ! and yet, if she is haughty or imperi- 
ous or severe, how humbled and grieved he looks 1 
How strange that she could have power over such 
a man ! 

It is cne of the saddest truths of this sad mystery 
of life, that woman is, often, never so much an ange) 
as just the moment before she falls int p an unsounded 
depth of perdition. And what shall we say of thv 
man who leads her on as an experiment, — wh* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 23S 

amuses himself with taking woman after woman 
up these dazzling, delusive heights, knowing, as he 
certainly must, where they lead ? 

We have been told, in extenuation of the course 
of Aaron Burr, that he was not a man of gross 
passions or of coarse indulgence, but, in the most 
consummate and refined sense, a man of gallantry 
This, then, is the descriptive name which polite 
society has invented for the man who does this 
thing ! 

Of old, it was thought that one who adminis- 
tered poison in the sacramental bread and wine had 
touched the very height of impious sacrilege ; but 
this crime is white, by the side of his who poisons 
God’s eternal sacrament of love and destroys a 
woman’s soul through her noblest and purest af- 
fections. 

We have given you the after- view of most of 
the actors of our little scene to-night, and there- 
fore it is but fair that you should have a peep 
over the Colonel’s shoulder, as he sums up the 
evening in a letter to a friend. 

“ My dear 

u As to the business, it gets on rather slowly. 

L and S are away, and the coalition 

cannot be formed without them ; they set out a 
week ago from Philadelphia, and are yet on ch« 
road. 


234 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


u Meanwhile, we have some providential allevia- 
tions, — as, for example, a wedding-party to-night 
at the Wilcoxes’, which was really quite an affair. 
I saw the prettiest little Puritan there that I have 
set eyes on for many a day. I really couldn’t 
help getting up a flirtation with her, although it 
was much like flirting with a small copy of the 
‘ Assembly’s Catechism,’ — of which last I had 
enough years ago, Heaven knows. 

“ But, really, such a naive , earnest little saint, 
who has such real deadly belief, and opens such 
pitying blue eyes on one, is quite a stimulating 
novelty. I got myself well scolded by the fair 
Madame, (as angels scold,) and had to plead like 
a lawyer to make my peace ; — after all, that 
woman really enchains me. Don’t shake your 
head wisely, — 4 What’s going to be the end of 
it ? ’ I’m sure I don’t know ; we’ll see, when the 
time comes. 

“ Meanwhile, push the business ahead with all 

your might. I shall not be idle. D must 

canvass the Senate thoroughly. I wish I could 
be in two places at once, — I would do it myself. 
Au revoir . “ Ever yours, 


“ Burr.” 


»'HK MINISTER’S WOOING. 


23.1 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE SERMON. 

M And now, Mary,” said Mrs. Scudder, at hve 
o’clock the next morning, “to-day, you know, is 
the Doctor’s fast; so we won’t get any regular 
dinner, and it will be a good time to do up all 
our little odd jobs. Miss Prissy promised to come 
in for two or three hours this morning, to alter the 
waist of that black silk ; and I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if we should get it all done and ready to 
wear by Sunday.” 

We will remark, by way of explanation to a 
part of th -i conversation, that our Doctor, who 
was a specimen of life in earnest, made a prac- 
tice, through the greater part of his pulpit course, 
of spending every Saturday as a day of fasting 
and retirement, in preparation for the duties of the 
Sabbath. 

Accordingly, the early breakfast things were no 
sooner disposed of than Miss Prissy’s quick foot- 
steps might have been heard pattering in the 
kitchen. 


230 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

« Well, Miss Scudder, how do you do this 
morning? and how do you do, Mary? Well, if 
you a’n’t the beaters! up just as early as ever, and 
everything cleared away! I was telling Miss Wil- 
cox there didn’t ever seem to be anything done in 
Miss Scudder’s kitchen, and I did verily believe 
you made your beds before you got up in the 
morning. 

“ Well, well, wasn’t that a party last night ? ” 
she said, as she sat down with the black silk and 
prepared her ripping-knife. — “ I must rip this my 
Belf, Miss Scudder ; for there’s a great deal in rip- 
ping silk so as not to let anybody know where it 
has been sewed. — You didn’t know that I was at 
the party, did you? Well, I was. You see, I 
thought I’d just step round there, to see about 
that money to get the Doctor’s shirt with, and 
there I found Miss Wilcox with so many things 
on her mind, and says she, 4 Miss Prissy, you 
don’t know how much it would help me, if I had 
somebody like you just to look after things a little 
here.’ And says I, 4 Miss Wilcox, you just go 
right to your room and dress, and don’t you give 
yourself one minute’s thought about anything, and 
you see if I don’t have everything just right’ And 
so, there I was, in for it ; and I just staid through 
and it was well I did, — for Dinah, she wouldn’t 
lave put near enough egg into the coffee, if it 
Hadn’t been for me ; why, I just went and beat 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


237 


up four eggs with my own hands and stirred ’em 
into the grounds. 

“Well, — but, really, wasn’t I behind the door, 
and didn’t I peep into the supper-room ? I saw 
who was a-waitin’ on Miss Mary. Well, they do 
say he’s the handsomest, most fascinating man. 
Why, they say all the ladies in Philadelphia are 
in a perfect quarrel about him ; and I heard he 
said he hadn’t seen such a beauty he didn’t re- 
member when.” 

“We all know that beauty is of small conse- 
quence,” said Mrs. Scudder. “ I hope Mary has 
been brought up to feel that.” 

“ Oh, of course,” said Miss Prissy, “ it’s just 
like a fading flower ; all is to be good and useful, 
— and that’s what she is. I told ’em that her 
beauty was the least part of her ; though I must 
say, that dress did fit like a biscuit, — if ’twas 
my own fitting. 

“ But, Miss Scudder, what do you think I heard 
em saying about the good Doctor?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. Scudder ; 
« I only know they couldn’t say anything bad.” 

“Well, not bad exactly,” said Miss Prissy,— 
“but they say he’s getting such strange notions 
in his head. Why, I heard some of ’em say, he’s 
going to come out and prfach against the slave- 
trade ; and I’m sure I don’t know what Newport 
folks will do, if that’s wicked. There a’n’t hardly 


*38 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

any money here that’s made any other way ; and 
I hope the Doctor a’n’t a-going to do anything of 
that sort.” 

u I believe he is,” said Mrs. Scudder ; “ he thinks 
it’s a great sin, that ought to be rebuked ; — and 
I think so too,” she added, bracing herself reso- 
lutely ; “ that was Mr. Scudder’s opinion when I 
first married him, and it’s mine.” 

“ Oh, — ah, — yes, — well — if it’s a sin, of course/ 
said Miss Prissy; “but then — dear me! — it don’t 
seem as if it could be. Why, just think how 
many great houses are living on it ; — why, there’s 
General Wilcox himself, and he’s a very nice man ; 
and then there’s Major Seaforth ; why, I could 
count you off a dozen, — all our very first people. 
Why. Doctor Stiles doesn’t think so, and I’m sure 
he’s a good Christian. Doctor Stiles thinks it’s 
a dispensation for giving the light of the gospel 
to the Africans. Why, now I’m sure, when I 
was a-working at Deacon Stebbins’s, I stopped 
over Sunday once ’cause Miss Stebbins she was 
weakly, — ’twas when she was getting up, after 
Samuel was born, — no, on the whole, I believe 
kt was Nehemiah, — but, any way, I remember I 
staid there, and I remember, as plain as if ’twas 
yesterday, just after breakfast, how a man went 
driving by in a chaise, and the Deacon he went 
and stopped him (’cause you know he was 
justice of the peace) for travelling on the Lord’? 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


239 


da), and who should it be but Tom Seaforth?- 
he told the Deacon his father had got a ship-load 
of negroes just come in, — and the Deacon he 
just let him go ; ’cause I remember he said that 
was a plain work of necessity and mercy.* Well, 
now who would ’a’ thought it? I believe the 
Doctor is better than most folks, but then the best 
people may be mistaken, you know.” 

“ The Doctor has made up his mind that it’s 
his duty,” said Mrs. Scudder. “ I’m afraid it will 
make him very unpopular; but I, for one, shall 
stand by him.” 

“ Oh, certainly, Miss Scudder, you are doing 
just right exactly. Well, there’s one comfort, he’ll 
have a great crowd to hear him preach ; ’cause as 
I was going round through the entries last night, 
I heard ’em talking about it, — and Colonel Burr 
said he should be there, and so did the General, 
and so did Mr. What’s-his-name there, that Sena- 
tor from Philadelphia. I tell you, you’ll have a 
full house.” 

It was to be confessed that Mrs. Scudder’s heart 
.uther sunk than otherwise at this announcement; 
and those who have felt what it is to stand 
almost alone in the right, in the face of all the 
first families of their acquaintance, may perhaps 
find some compassio~ for her, — since, after all, 
truth is invisible, but u first families ” are very evi- 
* A fact 


240 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


dent. First families are often very agreeable, an* 
deniably respectable, fearfully virtuous, and it take9 
great faith to resist an evil principle which incar- 
nates itself in the suavities of their breeding and 
amiability ; and therefore it was that Mrs. Scud- 
der felt her heart heavy within her, and could 
with a very good grace have joined in the Doc- 
tor’s Saturday fast. 

As for the Doctor, he sat the while tranquil in 
his study, with his great Bible and his Concord- 
ance open before him, culling, with that patient 
assiduity for which he was remarkable, all the ter- 
rible texts which that very unceremonious and old- 
fashioned book rains down so unsparingly on the 
sin of oppressing the weak. 

First families, whether in Newport or elsewhere, 
were as invisible to him as they were to Moses 
during the forty days that he spent with God on 
the mount ; he was merely thinking of his mes- 
sage, — thinking only how he should shape it, so 
as not to leave one word of it unsaid, — not even 
imagining in the least what the result of it was 
to be. He was but a voice, but an instrument. — 
the passive instrument through which an almighty 
will was to reveal itself; and the sublime fatal- 
ism of his faith made him as dead to all human 
considerations as if he had been a portion of the 
immutable laws of Nature herself. 

So, the next morning, although all his friend* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


241 


trembled for him when he rose in the pulpit, he 
never thought of trembling for himself ; he had 
come in the covered way of silence from the 
secret place of the Most High, and r elt himself 
still abiding under the shadow of the Almighty 
It was alike to him, whether the house was full 
or empty, — whoever were decreed to hear the 
message would be there ; whether they would hear 
or forbear was already settled in the counsels of 
a mightier will than his, — he had the simple duty 
of utterance. 

The ruinous old meeting-house was never so 
radiant with station and gentility as on that 
morning. A June sun shone brightly ; the sea 
sparkled with a thousand little eyes ; the birds 
sang all along the way ; and all the notables 
turned out to hear the Doctor. Mrs. Scudder re- 
ceived into her pew, with dignified politeness, 
Colonel Burr and Colonel and Madame de Fron 
tignac. General Wilcox and his portly dame, 
Major Seaforth, and we know not what of Ver- 
nons and De Wolfs, and other grand old names, 
were represented there ; stiff silks rustled, Chinese 
fans fluttered, and the last court fashions stood 
revealed ir bonnets. 

Everybody was looking fresh and amiable, — a 
charming and respectable set of sinners, come to 
hear what the Doctor would find to tell them 
about their transgressions. 

11 


M2 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Mrs. Scudder w as calculating consequences ; and* 
shutting her eyes on the too evident world about 
her, prayed that the Lord would overrule all for 
good. The Doctor prayed that he might have 
grace to speak the truth, and the whole truth. 
We have yet on record, in his published works, 
the great argument of that day, through which he 
moved with that calm appeal to the reason which 
made his results always so weighty. 

w If these things be true,” he said, after a con- 
densed statement of the facts of the case, 11 then 
the following terrible consequences, which may 
well make all shudder and tremble who realize 
them, force themselves upon us, namely: that all 
who have had any hand in this iniquitous busi- 
ness, whether directly or indirectly, or have used 
their influence to promote it, or have consented to 
it, or even connived at it, or have not opposed it 
by all proper exertions of which they are capable, 
— all these are, in a greater or less degree, charge- 
able with the injuries and miseries which millions 
have suffered and are suffering, and are guilty of 
the blood of millions who have lost their lives by 
this traffic in the human species. Not only the 
merchants who have been engaged in this trade, 
and the captains who have been tempted by the 
love of money to engage in this cruel work, and 
the slave-holders of every description, are guilty o f 
shedding rivers ot blood, but ali the legislatures 


THfc MINISTER’S WOOING. 


243 


who *\ave authorized, encouraged, or even neg- 
lected to suppress it to the utmost of their power, 
and all the individuals in private stations who 
have in any way aided in this business, consented 
to it, or have not opposed it to the utmost of 
their ability, have a share in this guilt. 

“ This trade in the human species has been the 
first wheel of commerce in Newport, on which every 
other movement in business has chiefly depended ; 
this town has been built up, and flourished in 
times past, at the expense of the blood, the lib- 
erty, and the happiness of the poor Africans ; 
and the inhabitants have lived on this, and by 
it have gotten most of their wealth and riches. 
If a bitter woe is pronounced on him ‘that 
buildeth his house by unrighteousness and his 
chambers by wrong,’ Jer. xxii. 13, — to him % ihat 
buildeth a town with blood, and stablisheth a 
city by iniquity,’ Hab. ii. 12, — to 1 the bloody 
city,’ Ezek. xxiv. 6, — what a heavy, dreadful woe 
hangs over the heads of all those whose hands 
are defiled by the blood of the Africans, especial- 
ly the inhabitants of this State and this town, 
who have had a distinguished share in this un- 
righteous and bloody commerce!” 

He went ovei the recent history of the country, 
expatiated on the nationa. declaration so lately 
made, that all men are born equally free and in* 
dependent and have natural and inalienable rights 


244 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


to liberty, and asked with what face a nation de> 
daring such things could continue to hold thou- 
sands of their fellow-men in abject davery. He 
pointed out signs of national disaster which fcre- 
boded the wrath of Heaven, — the increase of pub- 
lic and private debts, the spirit of murmuring and 
jealous)’ of rulers among the people, divisions and 
contentions and bitter party alienations, the jealous 
irritation of England constantly endeavoring to 
hamper our trade, the Indians making war on the 
frontiers, the Algerines taking captive our ships 
and making slaves of our citizens, — all evident 
tokens of the displeasure and impending judgment 
of an offended Justice. 

The sermon rolled over the heads of the gay 
audience, deep and dark as a thunder-cloud, which 
in a few moments changes a summer sky into 
heaviest gloom. Gradually an expression of in- 
tense interest and deep concern spread over the 
.isteners; it was the magnetism of a strong mind, 
which held them for a time under the shadow of 
his own awful sense of God’s almighty justice. 

It is said that a little child once described hia 
appearance in the pulpit by saying, “ I saw God 
there, and I was afraid.” 

Something of the same effect was produced on 
his audience now ; and it was not till after sermon, 
prayer, and benediction were all over, that the re- 
ipectables of Newport began gradually to unstiffer 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


245 


themselves from the spell, and to look into each 
other’s eyes for comfort, and to reassure themselves 
that after all they were the first families, and go- 
ing on the way the world had always gone, and 
that the Doctor, of course, was a radical and a 
fanatic. 

When the audience streamed out, crowding the 
broad aisle, Mary descended from the singers, and 
stood with her psalm-book in hand, waiting at the 
door to be joined by her mother and the Doctor. 
She overheard many hard words from people who, 
an evening or two before, had smiled so gracious- 
ly upon them. It was therefore with no little 
determination of manner that she advanced and 
took the Doctor’s arm, as if anxious to associate 
herself with his well-earned unpopularity, — and 
just at this moment she caught the eye and smile 
of Colonel Burr, as he bowed gracefully, yet not 
without a suggestion of something sarcastic, *n hia 


eye, 



246 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE GARRET-BOUDOIR 

Wu suppose the heroine of a novel, among 
other privileges and immunities, has a prescriptive 
right to her own private boudoir, where, as a 
French writer has it, “ she appears like a lovely 
picture in its frame.” 

Well, our little Mary is not without this luxury, 
and to its sacred precincts we will give you this 
morning a ticket of admission. Know, then, that 
the garret of this gambrel-roofed cottage had a 
projecting window on the seaward side, which 
opened into an immensely large old apple-tree 
and was a look-out as leafy and secluded as a 
robin’s nest. 

Garrets are delicious places in any case, foi 
people of thoughtful, imaginative temperament* 
Who has not loved a garret in the twilight days 
of childhood, with its endless stores of quaint, 
cast-off, suggestive antiquity, — old worm-eaten 
chests, — rickety chairs, — boxes and casks full of 
odd comminglings, out of which, with tiny child 


TIIE MINIS' T1 U S WOOING. 


247 


ish hands, we fished wonderful hoards of fairy 
treasure ? What peep-holes, and hiding-places, and 
undisco verable retreats we made to ourselves, — - 
where we sat rejoicing in our security, and bid- 
ding defiance to the vague, distant cry which 
summoned us to school, or to some unsavory 
every-day task ! How deliciously the rain came 
patteiing on the roof over our head, or the red 
twilight streamed in at the window, while we sat 
snugly ensconced over the delicious pages of some 
romance, which careful aunts had packed away at 
the bottom of all things, to be sure we should 
never read it! If you have anything, beloved 
friends, which you wish your Charley or your 
Susie to be sure and read, pack it mysteriously 
away at the bottom of a trunk of stimulating 
rubbish, in the darkest corner of your garret ; — 
in that case, if the book be at all readable, one 
that by any possible chance can make its way in- 
to a young mind, you may be sure that it will 
not only be read, but remembered to the longest 
day they have to live. 

Mrs. Katy Scudder’s garret was not an excep- 
tion to the general rule. Those quaint little peo- 
ple who touch with so airy a grace all the lights 
and shadows of great beams, bare rafters, and urn 
plastered walls, had not failed in their wodt there 
Was there not there a grand easy-chair of stamped- 
leather minus two of its hinder legs, which had 


248 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


genealogical associations through the Wilcoxes 
with the Vernons and through the Vernons quite 
across the water with Old England ? and was 
there not a dusky picture, in an old tarnished 
frame, of a woman of whose tragic end strange 
stories M ere whispered, — one of the sufferers in 
the time when witches were unceremoniously helped 
out of the world, instead of being, as now-a-days, 
helped to make their fortune in it by table-turn- 
ing? 

Yes, there were all these things, and many more 
which we will not stay to recount, but bring you to 
die boudoir which Mary has constructed for herself 
around the dormer-window which looks into the 
whispering old apple-tree. 

The inclosure was formed by blankets and bed- 
spreads, which, by reason of their antiquity, had 
been pensioned off to an undisturbed old age in 
tne garret, — not common blankets or bed-spreads, 
either, — bought, as you buy yours, out of a shop, 
— spun or woven by machinery, — without indi- 
viduality or history. Every one of these cui tains 
had its story. The one on the right, nearest the 
window, and already falling into holes, is a Chinese 
linen, and even now displays unfaded, quaint pat- 
terns of sleepy-looking Chinamen, in conical hats 
standing on the leaves of most singular herbage 
and with hands forever raised in act to strike bells 
Which never are struck and never will be till the 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 24t* 

end of time. These, Mrs. Katy Scudder had often 
instructed Mary, were brought from the Indies by 
her great-great-grandfather, and were her grand- 
mother’s wedding-curtains, — the grandmother who 
had blue eyes like hers and was just about her 
height. 

The next spread was spun and woven by Mrs. 
Katy’s beloved Aunt Eunice, — a mythical perse n- 
age, of whom Mary gathered vague accounts that 
she was disappointed in love, and that this very 
article was part of a bridal outfit, prepared in vain, 
against the return of one from sea, who never came 
back, — and she heard of how she sat wearily and 
patiently at her work, this poor Aunt Eunice, month 
after month, starting every time she heard the gate 
shut, every time she heard the tramp of a horse’s 
hoof, every time she heard the news of a sail in 
sight, — her color, meanwhile, fading and fading as 
life and hope bled away at an inward wound, — 
till at last she found comfort and reunion bevond 
the veil. 

Next to this was a bed-quilt pieced in tiny blocks, 
none of them bigger than a sixpence, containing, 
as Mrs. Katy said, pieces of the gowns of all hei 
grandmothers, aunts, cousins, and female relatives 
for years back, — and mated to it was one of the 
blankets which had served Mrs. Sc'jdder’s uncle in 
nis bivouac at Valley Forge, when the American 
soldiers went on the snows with bleeding feet, and 


2?0 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


had scarce anything for daily bread except a morn* 
ing message of patriotism and hope from George 
Washington. 

Sucti were the memories woven into the tapes- 
try of our little boudoir. Within, fronting the 
window, stands the large spinning-wheel, one end 
adorned with a snowy pile of fleecy rolls,— and 
beside it, a reel and a basket of skeins of yarn, — 
and open, with its face down on the beam of the 
wheel, lay always a book, with which the intervals 
of work were beguiled. 

The dusky picture of which we have spoken 
hung against the rough wall in one place, and in 
another appeared an old engraved head of one of 
the Madonnas of Leonardo da Vinci, a picture 
which to Mary had a mysterious interest, from the 
fact of its having been cast on shore after a furi- 
ous storm, and found like a waif lying in the sea- 
weed ; and Mrs. Marvyn, who had deciphered the 
signature, had not ceased exploring till she found 
for her, in an Encyclopaedia, a life of that wonder- 
ful man, whose greatness enlarges our ideas of 
what is possible to humanity, — and Mary ponder- 
ing thereon, felt the seaworn picture as a constant 
vague inspiration. 

Here our heroine spun for hours and hours — 
with intervals, when, crouched on a low seat in 
the window, she pored over her book, and then 
'^turning again to her work, thought of whai 


XI1E MINISTER’S WCOING. 


251 


she had read to the lulling burr of the sounding 
wheel. 

By chance a robin had built its nest so that 
from her retreat she could see the five little blue 
eggs, whenever the patient brooding mother left 
them for a moment uncovered. And sometimes 1 
as she sat in dreamy reverie, resting her small 
round arms on the window-sill, she fancied that 
the little feathered watcher gave her familiar nods 
and winks of a confidential nature, — cocking the 
small head first to one side and then to the other, 
to get a better view of her gentle human neighbor. 

I dare say it seems to you, reader, that we have 
travelled in our story, over a long space of time, 
because we have talked so much and introduced 
so many personages and reflections ; but, in fact, 
it is only Wednesday week since James sailed, and 
the eggs which were brooded when he went are 
still unhatched in the nest, and the apple-tree has 
changed only in having now a majority of white 
blossoms over the pink buds. 

This one week has been a critical one to our 
Mary; — in it, she has made the great discovery, 
that she loves; and she has made her first step 
?jito the gay world ; and now she comes back to 
her retirement to think the whole over by herself. 
It seems a dream tc her, that she who sits there 
now reeling yarn in her stuff petticoat and white 
pbort-gown is the same who took the arm of 


252 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Colonel Burr amid the blaze of wax-lights and the 
sweep of silks and rustle of plumes. She won- 
ders dreamily as she remembers the dark, lovel} 
face of the foreign Madame, so brilliant under ita 
powdered hair and flashing gems, — the sweet, for- 
eign accents of the voice, — the tiny, jewelled fan, 
with its glancing pictures and sparkling tassels, 
wnence exhaled vague and floating perfumes ; then 
she hears again that manly voice, softened to tones 
bo seductive, and sees those fine eyes with the 
tears in them, and wonders within herself that he 
could have kissed her hand with such veneration, 
as if she had been a throned queen. 

But here the sound of busy, pattering footsteps 
is heard on the old, creaking staircase, and soon 
the bows of Miss Prissy’s bonnet part the folds 
of the boudoir drapery, and her merry, May-day 
face looks in. 

“ Well, really, Mary, how do you do, to be sure ? 
You wonder to see me, don’t you ? but I thought 
1 must just run in, a minute, on my way up to 
Miss Marvyn’s. I promised her at least a half-a- 
day, though I didn’t see how I was to spare it, — 
for 1 tell Miss Wilcox I just run and run till it 
does seem as if my feet would drop off ; but I 
thought I must just step in to say, that I, for 
my part, do admire the Doctor more than ever, and 
J was telling your mother we mus’n’t mind toe 
rnuch what people say. I ’most made Miss Wil* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


253 


sox angry, standing up for him ; but I put it right 
to her, and says I, ‘ Miss Wilcox, you know folks 
must speak what’s on their mind, — in particular 
ministers must; and you know, Miss Wilcox,’ I 
says, i that the Doctor is a good man, and lives up 
to his teaching, if anybody in this world does, and 
gives away every dollar he can lay hands cn to 
those poor negroes, and works over ’em and teaches 
’em as if they were his brothers ’ ; and says I, 
* Miss Wilcox, you know I don’t spare myself, night 
nor day, trying to please you and do your woik 
to give satisfaction ; but when it comes to my 
conscience,’ says I, ‘ Miss Wilcox, you know I al- 
ways must speak out, and if it was the last word 
I had to say on my dying bed, I’d say that I think 
the Doctor is right.’ Why ! what things he told 
about the slave-ships, and packing those poor crea- 
tures so that they couldn’t move nor breathe! — 
why, I declare, every time I turned over and 
stretched in bed, I thought of it; — and says I, 
Miss Wilcox, I do believe that the judgments of 
God will come down on us, if something a’n’1 
*one, and I shall always stand by the Doctor,’ 
says I; — and, if you’ll believe me, just then I turned 
’•ound and saw the General; and the General, he 
inst haw-hawed right out, and says he, ‘ Good for 
)ou, Miss Prissy! that’s real grit,’ says he, c and I 
like you better for it.’ — Laws,” added Miss Prissy, 
reflectively, “ I sha’n’t lose by it / for Mis* Wilcox 


254 


11 HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


knows she never can get anybody to do the work 
for her that I will.” 

“ Do you think,” said Mary, u that there are a 
great many made angry ? ” 

u Why, bless your heart, child, haven’t you heard ? 
— Why, there never was such a talk in all New- 
port. Why, you know Mr. Simeon Brown is gone 
clear off to Dr. Stiles ; and Miss Brown, I was 
making up her plum-colored satin o’ Monday, and 
you ought to ’a’ heard her talk. But, I tell you, 
I fought her. She used to talk to me,” said Miss 
Prissy, sinking her voice to a mysterious whisper, 
* ’cause I never could come to it to say that I 
was willin’ to be lost, if it was for the glory of 
God ; and she always told me folks could just 
bring their minds right up to anything they knew 
they must; and I just got the tables turned on 
her, for they talked and abused the Doctor till 
they fairly wore me out, and says I, ‘ Well, Miss 
Brown, I’ll give in, that you and Mr. Brown do 
act up to your principles ; you certainly act as if 
you were willing to be damned’; — and so do all 
those folks who will live on the blood and groans 
of the poor Africans, as the Doctor said ; and I 
should think, by the way Newport people are mak* 
ing their money, that they were all pretty willing 
to go that way, — though, whether it’s for the glory 
of God, or not, I’m doubting. — But you see 
Mary.” said Miss Prissy, sinking her voice again 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


255 


to a solemn whisper, “ I never was clear on that 
point ; it always did seem to me a dreadful high 
place to come to, and it didn’t seem to be given 
to me ; but I thought, perhaps, if it was neces- 
sary, it would be given, you know, — for the Lord 
always has been so good to me that I’ve faith to 
believe that, and so I just say, 1 The Lord is mj 
shepherd, I shall not want”’; — and Miss Prissj 
hastily whisked a little drop out of her blue eye 
with her handkerchief. 

At this moment, Mrs. Scudder came into the 
boudoir with a face expressive of some anxiety. 

“ I suppose Miss Prissy has told you,” she said, 
“the news about the Browns. That’ll make a 
great falling off in the Doctor’s salary ; and I feel 
for him, because I know it will come hard to him 
not to be able to help and do, especially for these 
poor negroes, just when he will. But then we 
must put everything on the most economical scale 
we can, and just try, all of us, to make it up to 
him. I was speaking to Cousin Zebedee about it, 
when he was down here, on Monday, and he is 
all clear; — he has made out free papers for Can- 
dace and Cato and Dinah, and they couldn’t, one 
of ’em, be hired to leave him ; and he says, from 
what he’s seen already, he has no doubt but 
they’ll do enough more to pay for their wages.” 

;; Well,” said Miss Prissy, “ I haven’t got any- 
body to care for but myself. I was telling sister 


m 


THE MINISTER’’' WOOING. 


Elizabeth, one time, (she’s married and got four 
children,) that I could take a storm a good deaj 
easier than she could, ’cavse I hadn’t near so 
many sails to pull down; and now, you just look 
to me for the Doctor’s shirts, ’cause, after this, they 
shall all come in ready to put on, if I have to sit 
up till morning. And I hope, Miss Scudder, you 
can trust me to make them; for if I do say it my- 
self, I a’n’t afraid to do fine stitching ’longside of 
anybody, — and hemstitching ruffles, too ; and \ 
haven’t shown you yet that French stitch I learn- 
ed of the nuns ; — but you just set your heart at 
rest about the Doctor’s shirts. I always thought,’" 
continued Miss Prissy, laughing, 44 that I should 
have made a famous hand about getting up that 
tabernacle in the wilderness, with the blue and the 
purple and fine-twined linen; it’s one of my favor- 
ite passages, that is; — different things, you know, 
are useful to different people.” 

44 Well,” said Mrs. Scudder, 44 I see that it’s our 
call to be a remnant small and despised, but J 
hope we sha’n’t shrink from it. I thought, when 
[ saw all those fashionable people go out Sunday 
tossing their heads and looking so scornful, that 1 
hoped grace would be given me to be faithful.” 

44 And what does the Doctor say? ’ said Miss 
Prissy. 

44 He hasn’t said a word ; his mind seems to be 
very much lifted above all these things. 9 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


257 


“ Da, yss,” said Miss Prissy, “that’s one com- 
fort; he’ll never know where his shirts come from; 
and besides that, Miss Scudder,” she said, sinking 
her voice to a whisper, “as yon know, I haven’t 
any (hildren to provide for, — though I was tell- 
ing Elizabeth t’other day, when I was making up 
frocks for her children, that I believed old maids, 
first and last, did more providing for children than 
married women ; but still I do contrive to slip 
away a pound-note, now and then, in my little old 
silver tea-pot that was given to me when they set- 
tled old Mrs. Simpson’s property, (I nursed her all 
through her last sickness, and laid her out with 
my own hands,) and, as I was saying, if ever the 
Doctor should want money, you just let me know.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Prissy,” said Mrs. Scudder ; 
“we all know where your heart is.” 

“ And now,” added Miss Prissy, “ what do you 
suppose they say ? Why, they say Colonel Burr 
is struck dead in love with our Mary ; and you 
know his wife’s dead, and he’s a widower ; and 
they do say that he’ll get to be the next Presi- 
dent. Sakes alive! Well, Mary must be careful, 
if she don’t want to be carried off ; for they do say 
that there can’t any woman resist him, th it sees 
enough of him. Why, there’s that poor French 

woman, Madame what do you call her, that’s 

staying with the Vernons? — they say sheV 
head and ears in love with him.” 


ovei 


258 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


u But she’s a married woman,” said Mary , u ii 
can’t be possible.” 

Mrs. Scudder looked reprovingly at Miss Prissy 
and for a few moments there was great shaking 
of heads and a whispered conference between the 
two ladies, ending in Miss Prissy’s going off, say- 
ing, as she went down stairs, — 

“ Well, if women will do so, I, for my part, 
can’t blame the men.” 

In a few moments Miss Prissy rushed back as 
much discomposed as a clucking hen who has 
seen a hawk. 

u Well, Miss Scudder, what do you think ? 
Here’s Colonel Burr come to call on the ladies ! ” 

Mrs Scudder’s first movement, in common with 
all middle-aged gentlewomen, was to put her hand 
to her head and reflect that she had not on her 
best cap; and Mary looked down at her dimpled 
hands, which were blue from the contact with 
mixed yarn she had just been spinning. 

“Now, I’ll tell you what,” said Miss Prissy, — 
“wasn’t it lucky you had me here 7 for I first saw 
him coming in at the gate, and I whipped in 
quick as a wink and opened the best-room win- 
dow-shutters, and then I was back at the door, 
and he bowed to me as if I’d been a queen, and 
says he, 4 Miss Prissy, how fresh you’re looking 
this morning!’ You see, I was in working at the 
Vernons’, but I never thought as he’d noticed me 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


259 


And then he inquired in the handsomest way for 
the ladies and the Doctor, and so I took him into 
the parlor and settled him down, and then I ran 
into the study, and you may depend upon it I 
flew round lively for a few minutes. I got the 
Doctor’s study-gown off, and got his best coat on, 
and put on his wig for him, and started him up 
kinder lively, — you know it takes me to get him 
down into this world, — and so there he’s in talk- 
ing with him ; and so you can just slip down and 
dress yourselves, — easy as not. 

Meanwhile Colonel Burr was entertaining the 
simple-minded Doctor with all the grace of a 
young neophyte come to sit at the feet of supe- 
rior truth. There are some people who receive 
from Nature as a gift a sort of graceful facility 
of sympathy, by which they incline to take on, 
for the time being the sentiments and opinions of 
those with whom they converse, as the chameleon 
was fabled to change its hue with every surround • 
ing. Such are often supposed to be wilfully act- 
ing a part, as exerting themselves to flatter and 
deceive, when in fact they are only framed so sen- 
sitive to the sphere of mental emanation which 
surrounds others that it would require an exertion 
not in some measure to harmonize with it. In ap- 
proaching others in conversation, they are like a 
musician who joins a performer on an instrument, 
— it is impossible for them 'to strike a discord ; 


£60 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

Lheir very nature urges them to bring into pla) 
faculties according in vibration with those which 
another is exerting. It was as natural as possible 
lor Burr to commence talking with the Doctor on 
scenes and incidents in the family of President 
Edwards, and his old tutor, Dr. Bellamy, — - and 
i hence to glide on to the points of difference and 
agreement in theology, with a suavity and defer- 
ence which acted on the good man like a June 
sun on a budding elm-tree. The Doctor was soon 
wide awake, talking with fervent animation on 
the topic of disinterested benevolence, — Burr the 
mean while studying him with the quiet interest 
of an observer of natural history, who sees a new 
species developing before him. At all the best 
possible points he interposed suggestive questions, 
and set up objections in the quietest manner for 
the Doctor to knock down, smiling ever the while 
as a man may who truly and genuinely does not 
care a sou for truth on any subject not practically 
connected with his own schemes in life. He there 
fore gently guided the Doctor to sail down the 
stream of his own thoughts till his bark glided 
out into the smooth waters of the Millennium, or 
which, with great simplicity, he gave his views a 
length. 

It was just in the midst of this that Mary and 
her mother entered. Burr interrupted the conver 
sation to pay them the compliments of the morn 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


261 


tug,- -to inquire for their health, and hope they 
suffered no inconvenience from their night -ride 
from the party ; then, seeing the Doctor still 
looking eager to go on, he contrived with gentle 
dexterity to tie again the broken thread of con- 
versation. 

“Our excellent friend,” he said, “was explain- 
ing to me his views of a future Millennium. 1 
assure you, ladies, that we sometimes find our- 
selves in company which enables us to believe in 
the perfectibility of the human species. We see 
family retreats, so unaffected, so charming in their 
simplicity, where industry and piety so go hand 
in hand! One has only to suppose all families 
such, to imagine a Millennium.” 

There was no disclaiming this compliment, be- 
cause so delicately worded, that, while perfectly 
clear to the internal sense, it was, in a manner, 
veiled and unspoken. 

Meanwhile the Doctor, who sat ready to be- 
gin where he left off, turned to his complaisant 
listener and resumed an exposition of the Apoc- 
alypse. 

“ To my mind, it is certain/’ he said, “ as it is 
now three hundred years since the fifth vial was 
poured out, there is good reason to suppose that 
the sixth vial began to be poured out at the be- 
ginning of the last century, and has been run- 
ning for a hundred years or more, so that it 


262 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


run nearly out; the seventh and last vial will be- 
gin to run early in the next century .” 

“ You anticipate, then, no rest for the world fox 
some time to come?” said Burr. 

“ Certainly not,” said the Doctor, definitively , 
u there will be no rest from overturnings till He 
whose right it is shall come. 

“ The passage,” he added, “ concerning the dry- 
ing up of the river Euphrates, under the sixth 
vial, has a distinct reference, I think, to the ac- 
count in ancient writers of the taking of Babylon, 
and prefigures, in like manner, that the resources 
of that modern Babylon, the Popish power, shall 
continue to be drained off, as they have now been 
drying up for a century or more, till, at last, there 
will come a sudden and final downfall of that 
power. And after that will come the first tri- 
umphs of truth and righteousness, — the marriage- 
supper of the Lamb.” 

“ These investigations must undoubtedly possess 
a deep interest for you, Sir,” said Burr ; “ the 
hope of a future as well as the tradition of a 
past age of gold seems to have been one of the 
most cherished conceptions of the human breast.” 

“ In those times,” continued the Doctor, u the 
whole earth will be of one language ” 

“ Which language, Sir, do you suppose will be 
considered worthy of such preeminence?” inquiietf 
his listener 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


263 


“ That will probably be decided by an amicable 
conference of all nations,” said the Doctor; “and 
the one universally considered most valuable will 
be adopted ; and the literature of all other nations 
being translated into it, they will gradually drop all 
other tongues. Brother Stiles thinks it will be the 
Hebrew. I am not clear on that point. The He- 
brew seems to me too inflexible, and not suffi- 
ciently copious. I do not think,” he added, after 
some consideration, “ that it will be the Hebrew 
tongue.” 

“ I am most happy to hear it, Sir,” said Burr, 
gravely ; “ I never felt much attracted to that lan- 
guage. But, ladies,” he added, starting up with 
animation,- “I must improve this fine weather to 
ask you to show me the view of the sea from this 
little hill beyond your house, it is evidently so fine ; 
— I trust I am not intruding too far on your morn- 
ing? ” 

“ By no means, Sir,” said Mrs. Scudder, rising ; 
“ we will go with you in a moment.” 

And soon Colonel Burr, with one on either arm, 
was to be seen on the top of the hill beyond the 
house, — the very one from which Mary, the week 
before, had seen the retreating sail we all wot of. 
Hence, though her companion contrived, with the 
adroitness of a practised man of gallantry, to di- 
rect his words and looks as constantly to her as if 
they had been in a ttte-a-tMe, and although nothing 


2(54 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


liould be more graceful, more delicately flattering, 
more engaging, still the little heart kept equal poise; 
for where a true love has once bolted the door, a 
false one serenades in vain under the window. 

Some fine, instinctive perceptions of the real 
character of the man beside her seemed to have 
dawned on Mary’s mind in the conversation of the 
morning; — she had felt the covert and subtle 
irony that lurked beneath his polished smile, felt 
the utter want of faith or sympathy in what she 
and her revered friend deemed holiest, and there- 
fore there was a calm dignity in her manner of 
receiving his attentions which rather piqued and 
stimulated his curiosity. He had been wont to 
boast that he could subdue any woman, if he 
could only see enough of her ; in the first inter- 
view in the garden, he had made her color come 
and go and brought tears to her eyes in a man- 
ner that interested his fancy, and he could not re- 
sist the impulse to experiment again. It was a 
new sensation to him, to find himself quietly stud- 
ied and calmly measured by those thoughtful blue 
eyes; he felt, with his fine, instinctive tact, that 
the soul within was infolded in some crystalline 
sphere" of protection, transparent, but adamantine, 
so that he could not touch it. What was that 
secret poise, that calm, immutable centre on which 
she rested, that made her, in her rustic simplicity 
so unapproachable and so strong? 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


260 


Burr remembered once finding in his grand- 
father’s study, among a mass of old letters, one 
in which that great man, in early youth, described 
his future wife, then known to him only by dis- 
tant report. With his keen natural sense of every- 
thing fine and poetic, he had been struck with this 
passage, as so beautifully expressing an ideal 
womanhood, that he had in his earlier days cop- 
ied it in his private recueil. 

“ They say,” it ran, “ that there is a young lady 
who is beloved of that Great Being who made 
and rules the world, and that there are certain 
seasons in which this Great Being, in some way 
or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind 
with such exceeding sweet delight, that she hardly 
cares for anything except to meditate on him ; that 
she expects, after a while, to be received up where 
he is, to be raised up out of the world and caught 
up into heaven, being assured that he loves her too 
well to let her remain at a distance from him 
always. Therefore, if you present all the world 
before her, with the richest of its treasures, she 
disregards it. She has a strange sweetness in her 
mind, and singular purity in her affections ; and 
you could not persuade her to do anything wrong 
or sinful, if you should give her all the world. 
She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness, and 
universal benevolence of mind, especially after thia 
great God has manifested himself to her mind. 

12 


266 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


She will sometimes go from place to place singing 
sweetly, and seems to be always full of joy and 
pleasure ; and no one knows for what. She loves 
to be alone, walking in fields and groves, and 
seems to have some invisible one always convers- 
ing with her.” 

A shadowy recollection of this description crossed 
his mind more than once, as he looked into those 
calm and candid eyes. Was there, then, a truth 
in that inner union of chosen souls with God, of 
which his mother and her mother before her had 
borne meek witness, — their souls shining out as 
sacred lamps through the alabaster walls of a 
temple ? 

But then, again, had he not logically met and 
demonstrated, to his own satisfaction, the nullity 
of the religious dogmas on which New England 
faith was based? There could be no such innei 
life, he said to himself, — he had demonstrated it 
as an absurdity. What was it, then, — this charm, 
so subtile and so strong, by which this fair child, 
his inferior in age, cultivation, and knowledge of 
the world, held him in a certain awe, and made 
him feel her spirit so unapproachable? His curi- 
osity was piqued. He felt stimulated to employ 
all his powers of pleasing. He was determined, 
that, sooner or later, she should feel his power. 

With Mrs. Scudder his success was immediate, 
she was completely won over by the deferentia 


THE MINISTER'S WOOINCr. 


267 


manner with which he constantly refeired himself 
to her matronly judgments ; and, on returning to 
the house, sh.3 warmly pressed him to stay to 
dinner. 

Burr accepted the invitation with a frank and 
almost boyish abandon , declaring that he had not 
seen anything, for years, that so reminded him o( 
old times. He praised everything at table, — the 
smoking brown-bread, the baked beans steaming 
from the oven, where they had been quietly sim- 
mering during the morning walk, and the Indian 
pudding, with its gelatinous softness, matured by 
long and. patient brooding in the motherly old 
oven. He declared that there was no style of 
living to be compared with the simple, dignified 
order of a true New England home, where ser- 
vants were excluded, and everything came direct 
from the polished and cultured hand of a lady. 
It realized the dreams of Arcadian romance. A 
man, he declared, must be unworthy the name, 
who did not rise to lofty sentiments and heroic 
deeds, when even his animal wants were provided 
for by the ministrations of the most delicate and 
exalted portion of the creation. 

After dinner he would be taken into all the 
family interests. Gentle and pliable as oil, he 
seemed to penetrate every joint of the menage by 
a subtile and seductive symoathy. He was inters 
a sted in the spinning, in the weaving, — and in 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


2C'8 


fact, nobody knows how it was done, but, before 
the afternoon shadows had turned, he was sitting 
in the cracked arm-chair of Mary’s garret-boudoir, 
gravely giving judgment on several specimens of 
her spinning, which Mrs. Scudder had presented 
to his notice. 

With that ease with which he could at will 
glide into the character of the superior and elder 
brother, he had, without seeming to ask questions, 
drawn from Mary an account of her reading, her 
studies, her acquaintances. 

“ You read French, I presume ? ” he said to Her, 
with easy negligence. 

Mary colored deeply, and then, as one who rec 
ollects one’s self, answered, gravely, — 

“ No, Mr. Burr, I know no language but my 
own.” 

“ But you should learn French, my child,” said 
Burr, with that gentle dictatorship which he could 
at times so gracefully assume. 

“ I should be delighted to learn,” said Mary 
‘ but have no opportunity.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Scudder, — “Mary has always 
had a taste for study, and would be glad to im- 
prove in any way.” 

“Pardon me, Madam, if I take the liberty ot 
making a suggestion. There is a most excellent 
man, the Abbd Lefon, now in Newport, driven 
here bj the political disturbances in France ; he is 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


209 


anxious to obtain a few scholars, and 1 am inter- 
ested that ne should succeed, for he is a most 
worthy man.” 

u Is he a Roman Catholic ? ” 

“ He is, Madam; but there cculd be no manner 
of danger with a person so admirably instructed 
as your daughter. If you please to see him 
Madam, I will call with him some time.” 

u Mrs. Marvyn will, perhaps, join me,” said Ma 
ry. “ She has been studying French by herself 
for some time, in order to read a treatise on as- 
tronomy, which she found in that language. I 
will go over to-morrow and see her about it.” 

Before Colonel Burr departed, the Doctor re- 
quested him to step a moment with him into his 
study. Burr, who had had frequent occasions dur- 
ing his life to experience the sort of paternal free- 
dom which the* clergy of his country took with 
him in right of his clerical descent, began to sum- 
mon together his faculties of address for the avoid- 
ance of a kind of conversation which he was not 
disposed to meet. He was agreeably disappointed, 
however, when, taking a paper from the table, and 
presenting it to him, the Doctor said, — 

“ I feel myself, my dear Sir, under a burden of 
obligation for benefits received from your family, 
bo that I never see a rjiember of it without cast- 
ing about in my own mi.id how I may in some 
measure express my good-will towards him. You 


270 


TnE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


are aware that the papers of your distinguished 
grandfather have fallen into my hands, and from 
them I have taken the liberty to make a copy of 
those maxims by which he guided a life which 
was a blessing to his country and to the world. 
May I ask the favor that you will read them with 
attention? and if you find anything contrary to 
right reason or sober sense, I shall be happy to 
hear of it on a future occasion.” 

“ Thank you, Doctor,” said Burr, bowing. “ I 
shall always be sensible of the kindness of the 
motive which has led you to take this trouble on 
my account. Believe me, Sir, I am truly obliged 
to you for it.” 

And thus the interview terminated. 

That night, the Doctor, before retiring, offered 
fervent prayers for the grandson of his revered 
master and friend, praying that ’his father’s and 
mother’s God might bless him and make him 
living stone in the Eternal Temple. 

Meanwhile, the object of these prayers was sit- 
ting by a table in dressing-gown and slippers, 
thinking over the events of the day. The paper 
which Doctor Hopkins had handed him contained 
the celebrated “ Resolutions ” by which his ances- 
tor led a life nobler than any mere dogmas can 
possibly be. By its side lay a perfumed note 
from Madame de Frontignac, — one of those 
womanly notes, so beautiful, so sacred in them 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


271 


selves, but so mournful to a right-minded person 
who sees whither the}- are tending. Burr opened 
and perused it, — laid it by, — opened the docu- 
ment that the Doctor had given, and thoughtfully 
read the first of the “ Resolutions ” : — 

K Resolved, That I will do whatsoever I think 
to be most to God’s glory, and my own good 
profit and pleasure in the whole of my duration , 
without any consideration of time, whether now 
or never so many myriad ages hence. 

“ Resolved, To do whatever I think to be my 
duty and most for the good and advantage of 
mankind in general. . 

“ Resolved, To do this, whatsoever difficulties I 
meet with, and how many and how great soever.” 

Burr read the whole paper through attentively 
once or twice, and paused thoughtfully over many 
parts of it. He sat for some time after, lost in 
reflection ; the paper dropped from his hand, and 
then followed one of those long, deep seasons of 
fixed reverie, when the soul thinks by pictures 
and goes over endless distances in moments. In 
him, originally every moral faculty and sensibility 
was as keenly strung as in any member of that 
remarkable family from which he was descended, 
and which has, whether in good or ill, borne 
no common stamp. Two possible lives flashed 
before his mind at that moment, rapidly as when 
a train sweeps by with flashing lamps in the 


272 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


night. The life of worldly expediency, the life of 
eternal rectitude, — the life of seventy years, and 
that life eternal in which the event of death is no 
disturbance. Suddenly he roused hirnself, picked 
up the paper, filed and dated it carefully, and laid 
it by ; and in that moment was renewed again 
that governing purpose which sealed him, with 
all his beautiful capabilities, as the slave of the 
fleeting and the temporary, which sent him at 
last, a shipwrecked man, to a nameless, dishonored 
grave. 

He took his pen and gave to a friend his own 
views of the events of the day. 

“My dear, We are still in Newport, conju- 

gating the verb s'ennuyer, which I, for one, have 
put through all the moods and tenses. Pour 
passer le temps, however, I have la belle Fran- 
$aise and my sweet little Puritan. I visited there 
this morning. She lives with her mother, a little 
walk out toward the seaside, in a cottage quite 
prettily sequestered among blossoming apple-trees, 
and the great hierarch of modern theology, Dr. 
Hopkins, keeps guard over them. No chance here 
for any indiscretions, you see. 

“ By-the-by, the good Doctor astonished our 
monde here on Sunday last, by treating us to a 
solemn onslaught on slavery and the slave-trade 
He had all the chief captains and counsellors tr 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


273 


hear him, and smote them hip and thigh, and 
pursued them even unto Shur. 

u He is one of those great, honest fellows, with- 
out the smallest notion of the world we live in, 
who think, in dealing with men, that you must 
go to work and prove the right or the wrong of a 
matter; just as if anybody cared for that! Sup- 
posing he is right, — which appears very piobable 
to me, — what is he going to do about it? No 
moral argument, since the world began, ever pre- 
vailed over twenty-five per cent, profit. 

“ However, he is the spiritual director of la belle 
Puritaine , and was a resident in my grandfather’s 
family, so I did the agreeable with him as well 
as such an uncircumcised Ishmaelite could. I dis- 
coursed theology, — sat with the most docile air 
possible while he explained to me all the ins and 
outs in his system of the universe, past, present, 
and future, — heard him dilate calmly on the Mil- 
lennium, and expound prophetic symbols, marching 
out before me his whole apocalyptic menagerie 
of beasts and dragons with heads and horns innu- 
merable, to all which I gave edifying attention, 
taking occasion now and then to turn a compli- 
ment in favor of the ladies, — never lost, you 
know 

“ Really, he is a worthy old soul, and actually 
believes all these things with his whole heart, at 
taching unheard-of importance to the most ab- 
12 * 


m 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


stract ideas, and embarking his whole being in 
his ideal view of a grand Millennial finale to the 
human race. I look at him and at myself, and 
ask, Can human beings be made so unlike? 

“ My little Mary to-day was in a mood of 
‘sweet austere composure’ quite becoming to her 
style of beauty; her naive nonchalance at times is 
rather stimulating. What a contrast between her 
and la belle Fran$aise ! — all the difference that 
there is between a diamond and a flower. I find 
the little thing has a cultivated mind, enriched by 
reading, and more by a still, quaint habit of think- 
ing, which is new and charming. But a truce to 
this. 

“ I have seen our friends at last. We have had 
three or four meetings, and are waiting to hear 
from Philadelphia, — matters are getting in train. 
If Messrs. T. and S. dare to repeat what they 
said again, let me know ; they will find in me a 
man not to be trifled with. I shall be with you 
in a week or ten days at farthest. Meanwhile 
■ 'a id to your guns. 

“ Ever yours, 

u Burr.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


275 


CHAPTER XYU. 

POLEMICS IN THE KITCHEN. 

The next morning, before the early clews had 
yet dried ofl tht grass, Mary started to go and 
Bee her friend Mrs. Marvyn. It was one of those 
charming, invigorating days, familiar to those of 
Newport experience, when the sea lies shimmering 
and glittering in deep blue and gold, and the sky 
above is firm and cloudless, and every breeze that 
comes landward seems to bear health and energy 
upon its wings. 

As Mary approached the house, she heard loud 
sounds of discussion from the open kitchen-door, 
and, looking in, saw a rather original scene act- 
ing. 

Candace, armed with a long oven-shovel, stood 
before the open door of the oven, whence she had 
just been removing an army of good things which 
appeared ranged around on the dresser. Cato, 
in the undress of a red flannel snirt and tow-clotb 
trousers, was cuddled, in a consoled and protected 
attitude, in the corner of the wooden settle, with 


276 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

a mug of flip in his hand, which Candace had 
prepared, and, calling him in from his work, au- 
thoritatively ordered him to drink, on the showing 
that he had kept her awake the night before with 
his cough, and she was sure he was going to be 
sick. Of course, worse things may happen to a 
man than to be vigorously taken care of by his 
wife, and Cato iiad a salutary conviction of this 
fact, so thac he resigned himself to his comfort- 
able corner and his flip with edifying serenity. 

Opposite to Candace stood a well-built, corpu- 
lent negro man, dressed with considerable care, 
and with the air of a person on excellent terms 
with himself. This was no other than Digo, the 
house-servant and factotum of Dr. Stiles, who 
considered himself as the guardian of his master’s 
estate, his title, his honor, his literary character, 
iiis professional position, and his religious creed. 

Digo was ready to assert before all the world, 
iliat one and all of these were under his special 
protection, and that whoever had anything to say 
to the contrary of any of these must expect to 
take issue with him. Digo not only swallowed 
all his masterV opinions whole, but seemed to 
have the stomach of an ostrich in their digestion. 
He believed everything, no matter what, the mo* 
me^t he understood that the Doctor held it. He 
believed that Hebrew wax the language of heaven 
— that the ten tribes of the Jews had reappeared 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


277 


in the North American Indians, — that there was 
no such thing as disinterested benevolence, and 
that the doings of the unregenerate had some 
value, — that slavery was a divine ordinance, and 
that Dr. Hopkins was a radical, who did more 
harm than good, — and, finally, that there never 
was so great a man as Dr. Stiles; and as Dr. 
Stiles belonged to him in the capacity of master, 
why, he, Digo, owned the greatest man in Amer- 
ica. Of course, as Candace held precisely similar 
opinions in regard to Dr. Hopkins, the two never 
could meet without a discharge of the opposite 
electricities. Digo had, it is true, come ostensibly 
on a mere worldly errand from his mistress to 
Mrs. Marvyn, who had promised to send her some 
turkeys’ eggs, but he had inly resolved with him- 
self that he would give Candace his opinion, — 
that is, what Dr. Stiles had said at dinner the day 
before about Dr. Hopkins’ Sunday’s discourse. Dr 
Stiles had not heard it, but Digo had. He had 
felt it due to the responsibilities of his position to 
be present on so very important an occasion. 

Therefore, after receiving his eggs, he opened 
hostilities by remarking, in a general way, that he 
had attended the Doctor’s preaching on Sunday, 
and that there was quite a crowded house. Can- 
dace immediately began mentally to bristle hei 
feathers like a hen who sees a hawk in the rlis 
*-anee and respon ded with decision : — 


278 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ Den you heard sometin’, for once in yom 
life ! ” 

“ I must say,” said Digo, with suavity, “ dat 1 
can’t give my ’proval to such sentiments.” 

« More shame for you,” said Candace, grimly 
« You a man, and not stan’ by your color, and 
flunk under to mean white ways ! Ef you was 
half a man, your heart would ’a’ bounded like a 
cannon-ball at dat ar’ sermon.” 

“ Dr. Stiles and me we talked it over aftei 
church,” said Digo, — “ and de Doctor was of my 
’pinion, dat Providence didn’t intend ” 

“ Oh, you go ’long wid your Providence ! Guess, 
ef white folks had let us alone, Providence wouldn’t 
trouble us.” 

“ Well,” said Digo, “ Dr. Stiles is clear dat dis 
yer’s a-fulfillin’ de prophecies and bringin’ in de 
fulness of the Gentiles.” 

u Fulness of de fiddlesticks ! ” said Candace, ir 
reverently. u Now what a way dat ar’ is of talk 
in’! Go look at one o’ dem ships we come ovt 
in, — sweatin’ and groanin’, — in the dark and dirt 
— cryin’ and dyin’, — howlin’ for breath till dt 
sweat run off us, — livin’ and dead chained to 
gether, — prayin’ like de rich man in hell for 8 
drop o’ water to cool our tongues ! Call dat ar 
a-bringin’ de fulness of de Gentiles, do ye ' 
Ugh!” 

A.nd Candace ended with a guttural howl, a no 


TIIE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


279 


stood frowning and gloomy over the top of her 
long kitchen-shovel, like a black Bellona leaning 
on her spear of battle. 

Digo recoiled a little, but stood too well in his 
own esteem to give up ; so he shifted his attack. 

“ Well, for my part, I must say I never was ’clined 
to your Doctor’s ’pinions. Why, now, Dr. Stiles 
says, notin’ couldn’t be more absurd dan what he 
says ’bout disinterested benevolence. My Doctor 
says, dere a’n’t no such ting ! ” 

“ I should tink it’s likely ! ” said Candace, draw- 
ing herself up with superb disdain. “ Our Doctor 
knows dere is, — and why ? ’cause he’s got it in 
here,” said she, giving her ample chest a knock 
which resounded like the boom from a barrel. 

“ Candace,” said Cato, gently, “ you’s gittin’ too 
hot.” 

“ Cato, you shut up ! ” said Candace, turning 
sharp round. u What did I make you dat ar’ flip 
for, ’cept you was so hoarse you oughtn’ for to 
say a word ? Pooty business, you go to agitatin’ 
yourseU wid dese yer ! Ef you wear out your 
poor old throat talkin’, you may get de ’sumption ; 
and den what ’d become o’ me ? ” 

Cato, thus lovingly pitched hors de combat , sipped 
the sweetened cup in quietness of soul, while Can- 
dace returned to the charge. 

« Now, I tell ye what,” she said to Digo, — “ jest 
tfause you wear your master’s old coats and hats, 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


280 

you tink you must go in for all dese yer old, mean 
white ’pinions. A’n’t ye ’shamed — you a black 
man — to have no more pluck and make cause wid 
de Egyptians ? Now, ’ta’n’t what my Doctor gives 
me, — he never giv’ me the snip of a finger-nail, — 
but it’s what he does for mine ; and when de poor 
iritturs lands dar tumbled out like bales on de 
wharves, ha’n’t dey seen his great cocked hat, like 
a lighthouse, and his big eyes lookin’ sort o’ pitiful 
at ’em as ef he felt o’ one blood wid ’em ? Why, 
de very looks of de man is worth everyting; and 
who ever thought o’ doing anyting for deir souls, or 
cared ef dey had souls, till he begun it ? ” 

“ Well, at any rate,” said Digo, brightening up, 
“ I don’t believe his doctrine about de doings of de 
unregenerate, — it’s quite clear he’s wrong dar.” 

“ Who cares ? ” said Candace, — “ generate or 
unregenerate, it’s all one to me. I believe a man 
dat acts as he does. Him as stands up for the 
poor, — him as pleads for de weak, — he’s my man. 
I’ll believe straight through anyting he’s a mind to 
put at me.” 

At this juncture, Mary’s fair face appearing at the 
door put a stop to the discussion. 

“ Bress you - Miss Mary ! cornin’ here like a fresh 
June rose ! it makes a body’s eyes dance in deii 
head ! Come right in ! I got Cato up from de lot, 
cause he’s rader poorly dis mornin’ ; his cougfc 
makes me a sight o’ conceal ; he’s allers a-pullin 


THE MINISTER’S WOO/NG. 


281 


3tf his jacket de wrong time, or doin’ sometin’ I teli 
him not to, — and it just keeps him hack, hack, 
hackin’, all de time.” 

During this speech, Cato stood meekly bowiug 
feeling that he was being apologized for in the best 
possible manner; for long years of instruction had 
fixed the idea in his mind, that he was an ignorant 
sinner, who had not the smallest notion how to con- 
duct himself in this world, and that, if it were not 
for his wife’s distinguishing grace, he would long 
since have been in the shades of oblivion. 

“ Missis is spinnin’ up in de north chamber,” said 
Candace ; “ but I’ll run up and fetch her down.” 

Candace, who was about the size of a puncheon, 
was fond of this familiar manner of representing 
her mode of ascending the stairs ; but Mary, sup* 
pressing a smile, said, “ Oh, no, Candace ! don’t foi 
the world disturb her. I know just where she 5s.” 
And before Candace could stop her, Mary’s light 
foot was on the top step of the staircase that led up 
from the kitchen. 

The north room was a large chamber, overlooking 
a splendid reach of sea-prospect. A moving pano- 
rama of blue water and gliding sails was unrolled 
before its three windows, so that stepping into the 
room gave one an instant and breezy sense of ex- 
pansion Mrs. Marvyn was standing at the large 
vheel, spinning wool, — a reel and basket of spools 
on her side Her large brown eyes had an eage* 


282 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


joy in them when Mary entered ; but they seemed 
to cairn down again, and she received her only with 
that placid, sincere air which was her habit. Every- 
thing about this woman showed an ardent soul, 
repressed by timidity and by a certain dumbness ir» 
the faculties of outward expression ; but her eyes 
had, at times, that earnest, appealing language 
which is so pathetic in the silence of inferior ani- 
mals. — One sometimes sees such eyes, and wonders 
whether the story they intimate will ever be spoken 
in mortal language. 

Mary began eagerly detailing to her all that had 
interested her since they last met : — the party, — 
her acquaintance with Burr, — his visit to the cot- 
tage, — his inquiries into her education and reading, 
— and, finally, the proposal, that they should study 
French together. 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Marvyn, “ let us begin at 
once ; — such an opportunity is not to be lost J 
studied a little with James, when he was last at 
nome.” 

“ With James ? ” said Mary, with an air of timid 
surprise. 

“ Yes, — the dear boy has become, what I never 
expected, quite a student. He employs all his spare 
time now in reading and studying ; — the second 
mate is a Frenchman, and James has go + so tha 
he can both speak and read. He is studying Span- 
ish, too.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


283 


Ever since the last conversation with her mother 
an the subject of James, Mary had felt a sort of 
guilty constraint when any one spoke of him ; — - 
instead of answering frankly, as she once did, when 
anything brought his name up, she fell at once into 
a grave, embarrassed silence. 

Mrs. Marvyn was so constantly thinking of him, 
that it was difficult to begin on any topic that did 
not in some manner or other knit itself into the one 
ever present in her thoughts. None of the peculiar 
developments of the female nature have a more 
exquisite vitality than the sentiment of a frail, deli- 
cate, repressed, timid woman for a strong, manly, 
generous son. There is her ideal expressed ; there 
is the out-speaking and out-acting of all she trembles 
to think, yet burns to say or do ; here is the hero 
that shall speak for her, the heart into which she has 
poured her’s, and that shall give to her tremulous and 
hidden aspirations a strong and victorious expres- 
sion. “ I have gotten a man from the Lord,” she 
says to herself ; and each outburst of his manliness, 
his vigor, his self-confidence, his superb vitality, fills 
her with a strange, wondering pleasure, and she has 
a secret tenderness and pride even in his wilfulness 
and waywardness. u What a creature he is ! ” she 
says, when he flouts at sober argument and pitches 
nil received opinions hither and thither in the wild 
capriciousness of youthful paradox. She looks 
grave and reproving; but he reads the concealed 


284 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


triumph in her eyes, — he knows that in her heart 
she is full of admiration all the time. Fir&t love 
of womanhood is something wonderful and myste- 
rious — but in this second love it rises again, 
idealized and refined ; she loves the father and her- 
self united and made one in this young heir of life 
and hope. 

Such was Mrs. Marvyn’s still intense, passionate 
love for her son. Not a tone of his manly voice, 
not a flash of his dark eyes, not one of the deep, 
shadowy dimples that came and went as he laughed, 
not a ring of his glossy black hair, that was not 
studied, got by heart, and dwelt on in the inner 
shrin of her thoughts ; he was the romance of her 
life. His strong, daring nature carried her with 
it beyond those narrow, daily bounds where her 
soul was weary of treading; and just as his voy- 
ages had given to the trite prose of her menage 
a poetry of strange, foreign perfumes, of quaint 
objects of interest, speaking of many a far-off 
shore, so his mind and life were a constant chan- 
nel of outreach through which her soul held 
converse with the active and stirring world. Mrs 
Marvyn had known all the story of her son's 
love, and to no other woman would she have been 
willing to resign him ; but her love to Mary was 
go deep, that she thought of his union with hei 
more as gaining a daughter than as losing a son 
She would not speak of the subject ; she knev 


THE MINISTER’S WOOtNC 1 . 2°5 

the feelings of Mary’s mother; and the name of 
James fell so often from her lips, simply because 
it was so ever-present in her heart that it could 
not be helped. 

Before Mary left, it was arranged that they 
should study together, and that the lessons should 
be given alternately at each other’s houses ; end 
with this understanding they parted. 



THE MINISTER’S WOOINtt 


tfifi 


CHAPTER XYIIL 

EVIDENCES. 

The Doctor sat at his study-table. It was e\en 
ing, and the slant beams of the setting sun shot 
their golden arrows through the healthy purple 
clusters of lilacs that veiled the windows. There 
had been a shower that filled them with drops of 
rain, which every now and then tattooed with a 
slender rat-tat on the window-sill, as a breeze 
would shake the leaves and bear in perfume on 
its wings. Sweet, fragrance-laden airs tripped stir- 
ringly to and fro about the study-table, making 
gentle confusions, fluttering papers on moral abil- 
ity, agitating treatises on the great end of crea- 
tion, mixing up subtile distinctions between ami- 
able instincts and true holiness, and, in short, 
conducting themselves like very unappreciative and 
unphilosophic al little breezes. 

The Doctor patiently smoothed back and re- 
arranged, while opposite to him sat Mary, bending 
over some copying she was doing for him. One 
•tray sunbeam fell on her light brown hair, tinging 


THF MINISTER’S WO*. ING. 


28 


it to gold ; her long, drooping lashes lay ovei the 
wax-like pink of her cheeks, as she wrote on. 

“ Mary,” said the Doctor, pushing the papers 
from him. 

“ Sir,” she answered, looking up, the blood just 
perceptibly rising in her cheeks. 

“ Do you ever have any periods in which your 
evidences seem not altogether clear ? ” 

Nothing could show more forcibly the grave 
earnest character of thought in New England at 
this time than the fact that this use of the term 
M evidences ” had become universally significant 
and understood as relating to one’s right of citi- 
zenship in a celestial, invisible commonwealth. 

So Mary understood it. and it was with a deep- 
ening flush she answered gently, “ No, Sir.” 
w What ! never any doubts ? ” said the Doctor. 

“ I am sorry,” said Mary, apologetically ; 11 but 
1 do not see how I can have ; I never could.” 

u Ah ! ” said the Doctor, musingly, “ would I 
:.ould say so ! There are times, indeed, when 1 
.lope I have an interest in the precious Redeemer, 
and behold an infinite loveliness and beauty in 
Him, apart from anything I expect or hope. Buf 
iven then how deceitful is the human heart \ 
/low insensibly might a mere selfish love take 
the place of that disinterested complacency which 
regards Him for what He is in Himself, apar' 
from what He is to us ! Say, my dear friend 


m 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


does not this thought sometimes make you trem 
bie ? ” 

Poor Mary was truth itself, and this question 
distressed her; she must answer the truth. The 
fact was, that it had never come into her blessed 
little heart to tremble, for she was one of those 
children of the bride-chamber who cannot mourn 
because the bridegroom is ever with them ; but 
then, when she saw the man for whom her rever- 
ence was almost like that for her God thus dis- 
trustful, thus lowly, she could not but feel that 
her too calm repose might, after all, be the shal- 
low, treacherous calm of an ignorant, ill-grounded 
spirit, and therefore, with a deep blush and a fal- 
tering voice, she said, — 

“ Indeed, I am afraid something must be wrong 
with me. I cannot have any fears, — I never 
could ; I try sometimes, but the thought of God’s 
goodness comes all around me, and I am so hap- 
py before I think of it!” 

“ Such exercises, my dear Mend, I have also 
had,” said the Doctor; “but before I rest on them 
as evidences, I feel constrained to make the fol- 
lowing inquiries : — Is this gratitude that swells 
my bosom the result of a mere natural sensibility ? 
Does it arise in a particular manner because God 
has done me good ? or do I love God for what 
He is , as well as for what He has done ? and for 
what he has done for others, as well as for wha 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


289 


He hap done for me ? Love to God which is 
built on nothing but good received is not incom- 
patible with a disposition so horrid as even to 
curse God to His face. If God is not to be loved 
except when He does good, then in affliction we 
are free. If doing us good is all that renders 
God lovely to us, then not doing us good divests 
Him of His glory, and dispenses us from obliga- 
tion to love Him. But there must be, undoubt- 
edly, some permanent reason why God is to be 
loved by all ; and if not doing us good divests 
Him of His glory so as to free us from our obli- 
gation to love, it equally frees the universe ; so 
that, in fact, the universe of happiness, if ours be 
not included, reflects no glory on its Author.” 

The Doctor had practised his subtile mental 
analysis till his instruments were so fine-pointed 
and keen-edged that he scarce ever allowed a 
flower of sacred emotion to spring in his soul 
without picking it to pieces to see if its genera 
and species were correct. Love, gratitude, rever- 
ence, benevolence, — which all moved in mighty 
tides in his soul, — were all compelled to pause 
midway while he rubbed up his optical instruments 
to see whether they were rising in right order. 
Mary, on the contrary, had the blessed gift of 
womanhood, — that vivid life in the soul and sen- 
lifnent which resists the chilis of analysis, as a 
healthful human heart resists cold ; yet still, all 

13 


290 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


humbly, she thought this perhaps was a defecl in 
herself, and therefore, having confessed, ir.. a depre- 
crating tone, her habits of unanalyzed faith and 
love, she added, — 

“ But, my dear Sir, you are my best friend, I 
trust you will be faithful to me. If I am deceiv 
ing myself, undeceive me ; you cannot be too sc* 
vere with me.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the Doctor, “ I fear that I may be 
only a blind leader of the blind. What, after all, 
if I be only a miserable self-deceiver ? What if 
some thought of self has come in to poison all 
my prayers and strivings ? It is true, I think, — 
yes, I think” said the Doctor, speaking very slowly, 
and with intense earnestness, — “ I think, that, if I 
knew at this moment that my name never would 
be written among those of the elect, I could still 
see God to be infinitely amiable and glorious, and 
could feel sure that He could not do me wrong, 
and that it was infinitely becoming and right that 
He should dispose of me according to His sover- 
eign pleasure. I think so; — but still my deceitful 
heart! — after all, I might fin. I it rising in rebel- 
lion. Say, my dear friend, are you sure, that, 
Bhould you discover yourself to be forever con- 
demned by His justice, you would not find your 
heart rising up against Him ? ” 

“ Against Him ? ” said Mary, with a tremulous 
sorrowful expression on her face, — “against mt 
Heavenly Father?” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


291 


Her face flushed, and faded ; her eyes kindled 
eagerly, as if she had something to say, and then 
grew misty with tears. At last she said, — 

“ Thank you, my dear, faithful friend ! I will 
think about this ; perhaps I may have been de- 
ceived. How very difficult it must be to know 
one’s self perfectly ! ” 

Mary went into her own little room, and sat 
leaning for a long time with her elbow on the 
window-seat, watching the pale shells of the apple- 
Dlossoms as they sailed and fluttered downward into 
the grass, and listened to a chippering conversation 
in which the birds in the nest above were settling 
up their small housekeeping accounts for the day. 

After awhile, she took her pen and wrote the 
fDllowing, which the Doctor found the next morn- 
ing lying on his study-table • • — 

“My dear, honored friend, — How can I suf- 
ficiently thank you for your faithfulness with me ? 
All you say to me seems true and excellent ; and 
yet, my dear Sir, permit me to try to express to 
you some of the many thoughts to which our con- 
versation this evening has given rise. To love 
God because He is good to me you seem to think 
is not a right kind of love ; and yet every rno- 
nent of my life I have exoerienced His goodness 
When recollection brings back the past, where can 
I look that I see not His goodness ? What mo- 


I' HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


2^2 


ment of my life presents not instances of merciful 
kindness to me, as well as to every creatuie, more 
and greater than I can express, than my mind is 
able to take in ? How, then, can I help loving 
God because He is good to me? Were I not an 
object of God’s mercy and goodness, I cannot 
have any conception what would be my feeling. 
Imagination never yet placed me in a situation not 
to experience the goodness of God in some way or 
other ; and if I do love Him, how can it be but be- 
cause He is good, and to me good ? Do not God’s 
children love Him because He first loved them ? 

“ If I called nothing goodness which did not 
happen to suit my inclination, and could not be- 
lieve the Deity to be gracious and merciful except 
when the course of events was so ordered as to 
agree with my humor, so far from imagining that 
I had any love to God, I must conclude myself 
wholly destitute of anything good. A love founded 
on nothing but good received is not, you say, in 
compatible with a disposition so horrid as even to 
curse God. I am not sensible that I ever in my 
life imagined anything but good could come from 
the hand of God. From a Being infinite in good- 
ness everything must be good, though we do not 
always comprehend how it is so. Are not afflic- 
tions good ? Does He not even in judgment remem 
her mercy ? Sensible that 4 afflictions are bu* 
blessings in disguise, I would bless the hand that 


THE MINT SI ER S WOOING. 


293 


with infinite kindness, wounds only to heal, and 
love and adore the goodness of God equally in 
Euffering as in rejoicing. 

“ The disinterested love to God, which you think 
is a*one the genuine love, I see not how we can 
be certain we possess, when our love of happiness 
and our love of God are so inseparably connected. 
The joys arising from a consciousness that God 
is a benefactor to me and my friends, (and when 
I think of God, every creature is my friend,} if 
arising from a selfish motive, it does not seem to 
me possible could be changed into hate, even sup- 
posing God my enemy, whilst I regarded Him as 
a Being infinitely just as well as good. If God 
is my enemy, it must be because I deserve that He 
should be such; and it does not seem to me pos- 
sible that I should hate Him, even if I knew He 
would always be so. 

“ In what you say of willingness to suffer eter- 
nal punishment, I don’t know that I understand 
what the feeling is. Is it wickedness in me that 
I do not feel a willingness to be left to eternal 
sin ? Can any one joyfully acquiesce in being thus 
left? When I pray for a new heart and a right 
spirit, must I be willing to be denied, and rejoice 
that my prayer is not heard ? Could any real 
Christian rejoice in this? But he fears it not, — 
he knows it will never be, — he therefore can 
cheerfully leave it with God ; and so can I. 


294 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


“ Such, my . dear friend, are my thoughts, pool 
and unworthy ; yet they seem to me as certain as 
my life, oi as anything I see. Am I unduly con- 
fident ? I ask your prayers that I may be guided 
aright. 

u Your affectionate friend, 

“ Mary. 

There are in this world two kinds of natures, — 
those that have wings, and those that have feet, — 
the winged and the walking spirits. The walking 
are the logicians ; the winged are the instinctive | 
and poetic. Natures that must always walk find i 
many a bog, many a thicket, many a tangled 
brake, which God’s happy little winged birds flit 
over by one noiseless flight. Nay, when a man 
has toiled till his feet weigh too heavily with the 
mud of earth to enable him to walk another step, 
these little birds will often cleave the air in a right ; 
line towards the bosom of God, and show the way 
where he could never have found it. 

The Doctor paused in his ponderous and heavy 
reasonings to read this real woman’s letter; and 
being a loving man, he felt as if he could have 
kissed the hem of her garment who wrote it. He 
recorded it in his journal, and after it this signifi- 
cant passage from Canticles : — 

“ T charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem 
oy the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye 


TiliS MINISTER’S WOOING. 


stir not up nor awake this lovely one till she 
please.” 

Mrs. Scudder’s motherly eye noticed, with satis- 
faction, these quiet communings. “ Let it alone,” 
she said to herself ; “ before she knows it, she will 
find herself wholly under his influence.” Mrs. Scud« 
der was a wise woman. 



.i*0 


THE MINISTEK’S WUU1WU. 


CHAPTER XHL 

MADAME DE FRONTIGNAC. 

In the course of a day or two, a handsome car 
riage drew up in front of Mrs. Scudder’s cottage, 
and a brilliant party alighted. They were Colonel 
and Madame de Frontignac, the Abbe L6fon, and 
Colonel Burr. Mrs. Scudder and her daughter, be- 
ing prepared for the call, sat in afternoon dignity 
and tranquillity, in the best room, with their knit* 
ting-work. 

Madame de Frontignac had divined, with the 
lightning-like tact which belongs to women in the 
positive, and to French women in the superlative 
degree, that there was something in the cottage- 
girl, whom she had passingly seen at the party, 
which powerfully affected the man whom she loved 
with all the jealous intensity of a strong nature, 
and hence she embraced eagerly the opportunity tc 
see her, — yes, to see her, to study her, to dart her 
keen French wit through her, and detect the secret 
of her charm, that she, too, might practise it. 

Madame de Frontignac was one of those womer 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


297 


whose beauty is so striking and imposing, that they 
seem to kindle up, even in the most prosaic apart- 
ment, an atmosphere of enchantment. All the 
pomp and splendor of high life, the wit, the re- 
fnements, the nameless graces and luxuries of 
courts, seemed to breathe in invisible airs around 
her, and she made a Faubourg St. Germain of 
the darkest room into which she entered. Mary 
thought, when she came in, that she had nevei 
seen anything so splendid. She was dressed in a 
black velvet riding-habit, buttoned to the throat 
with coral ; her riding-hat drooped with its long 
plumes so as to cast a shadow over her animated 
face, out of which her dark eyes shone like jewels, 
and her pomegranate cheeks glowed with the rich 
shaded radiance of one of Rembrandt’s pictures. 
Something quaint and foreign, something poetic 
and strange, marked each turn of her figure, each 
article of her dress, down to the sculptured hand 
on which glittered singular and costly rings, — and 
the riding-glove, embroidered with seed-pearls, that 
fell carelessly beside her on the floor. 

In Antwerp one sees a picture in which Rubens, 
who felt more than any other artist the glory of 
the physical life, has embodied his conception of 
the Madonna, in opposition to the faded, cold 
ideals of the Middle Ages, from which he revolted 
with such a bound. His Mary is a superb Orien- 
tal sultana, with lustrous dark eyes, redundant 
12 + 


298 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


form, jewelled turban, standing leaning on the bal* 
ustrade of a princely terrace, and bearing on hei 
hand, not the silver dove, but a gorgeous paroquet. 
The two styles, in this instance, were both in the 
same room ; and as Burr sat looking from one to 
the other, he felt, for a moment, as one would who 
Bhould put a sketch of Overbeck’s beside a splendid 
painting of Titian’s. 

For a few moments, everything in the room 
seemed faded and cold, in contrast with the tropi- 
cal atmosphere of this regal beauty. Burr watched 
Mary with a keen eye, to see if she were dazzled 
and overawed. He saw nothing but the most in- 
nocent surprise and delight. All the slumbering 
poetry within her seemed to awaken at the pres- 
ence of her beautiful neighbor, — as when one, for 
the first time, stands before the great revelations 
of Art. Mary’s cheek glowed, her eyes seemed to 
grow deep with the enthusiasm of admiration, and, 
after a few moments, it seemed as if her delicate 
face and figure reflected the glowing 'oveliness ot 
her visitor, just as the virgin snows of the Alps 
become incarnadine as they stand opposite the 
glorious radiance of a sunset sky. 

Madame de Frontignac was accustomed to the 
effect of her charms ; but there was so much love 
in the admiration now directed towards her, that 
her own warm nature was touched, and she threw 
out the glow of her feelings with a magnetic 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


299 


power. Mary never felt the cold, habitual reserve 
of her education so suddenly melt, never felt her- 
self so naturally falling into language of confi- 
dence and endearment with a stranger ; and as 
her face, so delicate and spiritual, grew bright with 
love, Madame de Frontignac thought she had never 
seen anything so beautiful, and, stretching out her 
hands towards her, she exclaimed, in her own lan 
guage, — 

u Mais , mon Dieu ! mon enfant , que tu es belle ! ” 

Mary’s deep blush, at her ignorance of the lan- 
guage in which her visitor spoke, recalled her to 
herself; — she laughed a clear, silvery laugh, and 
laid her jewelled little hand on Mary’s with a ca- 
ressing movement. 

“ He shall not teach you French, ma toute belief 
she said, indicating the Abbe, by a pretty, wilful 
gesture; “/will teach you; — and you shall teach 
me English. Oh, I shall try so hard to learn!” she 
said. 

There was something inexpressibly pretty and 
quaint in the childish lisp with which she pro- 
nounced English. Mary was completely won over 
She could have fallen into the arms of this won- 
drously beautiful fairy princess, expecting to be 
carried away by her to Dream-land. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Scudder was gravely discours- 
ing with Colonel Burr and M. de Frontignac ; and 
the Abbe, a small and gentlemanly personage, witk 


di)0 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


clear black eye, delicately-cut features, and pow- 
dered hair, appeared to be absorbed in his efforts 
to follow tht current of a conversation imperfectly 
understood. Burr, the while, though seeming to be 
entirely and politely absorbed in the conversation 
he was conducting, lost not a glimpse of the pic- 
turesque aside which was being enacted between 
the two fair ones whom he had thus brought to- 
gether. He smiled quietly when he saw the effect 
Madame de Frontignac produced on Mary. 

“After all, the child has flesh and blood !” he 
thought, “ and may feel that there are more things 
in heaven and earth than she has dreamed of yel;. 
A few French ideas won’t hurt her.” 

The arrangements about lessons being completed 
the party returned to the carriage. Madame de 
Frontignac was enthusiastic in Mark’s praise. 

Cependcint” she said, leaning back, thoughtfully 
& c ter having exhausted herself in superlatives, — 
“ cependant elle est devote , — et a dix-neuf comment 
cela se peut il ? ” 

“ It is the effect of her austere education,” said 
Burr. “ It is not possible for you to conceive how 
young people are trained in the religious families 
of this country.” 

“ But yet,” said Madame, “ it gives her a gract 
altogether peculiar ; something in her looks wen 
to my heart. I could find it very easy to lo\e hei 
because she is really good.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


301 


M The Queen of Hearts should know all that 
possible in loving,” said Burr. 

Somehow, of late, the compliments which fell so 
readily from those graceful lips had brought with 
them an unsatisfying pain. Until a woman really 
loves, flattery and compliment are often like hei 
native air ; but when that deeper feeling has once 
awakened in her, her instincts become marvellous!) 
acute to detect the false from the true. Madame 
de Frontignac longed for one strong, unguarded, 
real, earnest word from the man who had stolen 
from her her whole being. She was beginning to 
feel in some dim wise what an untold treasure she 
was daily giving for tinsel and dross. She leaned 
back in the carriage, with a restless, burning cheek, 
and wondered why she was # born to be so misera- 
ble. The thought of Mary’s saintly face and ten- 
der eyes rose before her as the moon rises on the 
eyes of some hot and fevered invalid, inspiring 
vague yearnings after an unknown, unattainable 
peace. 

Could some friendly power have made her at 
that time clairvoyant and shown her the reality 
of the man whom she was seeing through the 
prismatic glass of her own enkindled ideality ! 
Could she have seen the calculating quietness in 
which, during the intervals of a restless and sleep* 
less ambition, he played upon her heart-strings, as 
ane uses a musical instrument to beguile a pas? 


SU2 THE MINISTER’S W jOING. 

ing hour, — how his only embarrassment was the 
fear that the feelings he was pleased to excite 
might become too warm and too strong, while as 
yet his relations to her husband were such as to 
make it dangerous to arouse his jealousy ! And 
if he could have seen that pure ideal conception 
of himself which alone gave him power in the 
heart of this woman, — that spotless, glorified im 
age of a hero without fear, without reproach, — 
would he have felt a moment’s shame and abase- 
ment at its utter falsehood ? 

The poet says that the Evil Spirit stood abashed 
when he saw virtue in an angel form ! How 
would a man, then, stand, who meets face to face 
his own glorified, spotless ideal, made living by 
the boundless faith of some believing heart? The 
best must needs lay his hand on his mouth at 
this apparition; but woe to him who feels no re- 
deeming power in the sacredness of this believing 
dream, — who with calculating shrewdness uses this 
most touching miracle of love only to corrupt and 
destroy the loving! For him there is no sacrifice 
for sin, no place for repentance. His very mother 
might shrink in her grave to have him laid beside 
her. 

Madame de Frontignac had the high, honorable 
nature of the old blood of France, and a touch 
df its romance. She was strung heroically, anc 
3ducated according 1o the notions of her caste 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


303 


ind church, purely and religiously. True it is. 
that one can scarcely call that education which 
teaches woman everything except herself, — except 
the things that relate to her own peculiar wom- 
anly destiny, and, on plea of the holiness of 
ignorance, sends her without one word of just 
counsel into the temptations of life. Incredible 
as it may seem, Yirginie de Frontignac had never 
read a romance or work of fiction of which love 
was the staple ; the regime of the convent in this 
regard was inexorable ; at eighteen she was more 
thoroughly a child than most American girls at 
thirteen. On entrance into life, she was at first 
so dazzled and bewildered by the mere conti ast 
of fashionable excitement with the quietness of 
the scenes in which she had hitherto grown up, 
that she had no time for reading or thought, — all 
was one intoxicating frolic of existence, one daz- 
zling, bewildering dream. 

He whose eye had measured her for his victim 
verified, if ever man did, the proverbial expression 
of the iron hand under the velvet glove. Under 
all his gentle suavities there was a fixed, inflexi- 
ble will, a calm self-restraint, and a composed phil- 
osophical measurement of others, that fitted him 
to bear despotic rule over an impulsive, unguarded 
nature. The position, at once accorded to him, 
of her instructor in the English language and lit- 
erature, gave him a thousand daily opportunity 


304 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


to touch and stimulate all that class of finer face 
ulties, so restless and so perilous, and which a 
good man approaches ilways with a certain awe. 
It is said that he once asserted that he never be- 
guiled a -woman who did not come half-way to 
meet him, — an observation much the same as a 
serpent might make in regard to his birds. C' 

The visit of the morning was followed by sev- 
eral others. Madame de Frontignac seemed to 
conceive for Mary one of those passionate attach- 
ments which women often conceive for anything 
fair and sympathizing, at those periods when their 
whole inner being is made \ital by the approaches 
of a grand passion. It took only a few visits to 
make her as familiar as a child at the cottage ; 
and the whole air of the Faubourg St. Germaip 
seemed to melt away from her, as, with the pli- 
ability peculiar to her nation, she blended herself 
with the quiet pursuits of the family. Sometimes 
in simple straw hat and white wrapper, she would 
lie down in the grass under the apple-trees, o? 
join Mary in an expedition to the barn for hen’s 
eggs, or a run along the sea-beach for shells ; and 
her childish eagerness and delight on these occa- 
sions used to arouse the unqualified astonishment 
of Mrs. Katy Scudder. 

The Doctor she regarded witl a naive astonish- 
ment, slightly tinctured with apprehension. She 
imew he was very religious, and stretched he; 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


306 


comprehension to imagine what he might be like. 
She thought of Bossuet’s sermons walking about 
under a Protestant coat, and felt vaguely alarmed 
and sinful in his presence, as she used to when 
entering under the shadows of a cathedral. In 
her the religious sentiment, though vague, was 
strong. Nothing in the character of Burr had ever 
awakened so much disapprobation as his occa- 
sional sneers at religion. On such occasions she 
always reproved him with warmth, but excused 
him in her heart, because he was brought up a 
heretic. She held a special theological conversation 
with the Abb6, whether salvation were possible to 
one outside of the True Church, — and had added 
to her daily prayer a particular invocation to the 
Virgin for him. 

The French lessons, with her assistance, pro- 
ceeded prosperously. She became an inmate in 
Mrs. Marvyn’s family also. The brown-eyed, sen- 
sitive woman loved her as a new poem ; she felt 
enchanted by her ; and the prosaic details of her 
household seemed touched to poetic life by her 
innocent interest and admiration. The young Mad- 
ame insisted on being taught to spin at the great 
wheel ; and a very pretty picture she made of it, 
too, with her earnest gravity of endeavor, her 
deepening cheek, her graceful form, with some 
strange foreign scarf or jewelry waving and flash' 
ing in odd contrast with her work. 


50e THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

“ Do you know,” she said, one day, while ihus 
employed in the north room at Mrs. Marvyn’s, — 
u do you know Burr told me that princesses used 
to spin? He read me a beautiful story from the 
‘ Odyssey,’ about how Penelope cheated her lovers 
with her spinning, while she was waiting for her 
husband to come home; — he was gone to sea, 
Mary, — her true love, — you understand.” 

She turned on Mary a wicked glance, so full 
of intelligence that the snowdrop grew red as the 
inside of a sea-shell. 

“ Mon enfant ! thou hast a thought deep in 
here ! ” she said to Mary, one day, as they sat 
together in the grass under the apple-trees. 

“ Why, w hat ? ” said Mary, with a startled and 
guilty look. 

“Why, what? petite /” said the fairy princess, 
whimsically mimicking her accent. u Ah ! ah ! ma 
belle ! you think I have no eyes ; — Virginie sees 
deep in here ! ” she said, laying her hand play- 
fully on Mary’s heart. “ Ah, petite ! ” she said 
gravely, and almost sorrowfully, “ if you love him 
wait for him, — don't marry another! It is dread- 
ful not to have one’s heart go with one’s duty.” 

u I shall never marry anybody,” said Mary. 

** Nevare marrie anybodie ! ” said the lady, im- 
itating her accents in tones much like those of a 
bobolink. “ Ah ! ah ! my little saint, you cannot 
always live on nothing but the prayers, though 


l'HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


307 


prayers are verie good But, ma chore ,” she added, 
»n a low tone, u don’t you ever marry that good 
man in there ; priests should not marry." 

“ Ours are not priests, — they are ministers.” 
said Mary. “ But why do you speak of him ? — 
he is like my father.” 

M Virginie sees something !” said the lady, shak- 
ing her head gravely ; “ she sees he loves little 
Mary.” 

“ Of course he does ! ” 

w Of-course-he-does ? — ah, yes ; and by-and-by 
comes the mamma, and she takes this little hand, 
and she says, 1 Come, Mary ! ’ and then she gives 
it to him ; and then the poor jeune homme ) when 
he comes back, finds not a bird in his poor little 
nest. O/z, c'est ennuyeux cela ! ” she said, throw- 
ing herself back in the grass till the clover-heads 
and buttercups closed over her. 

“ I do assure you, dear Madame ! ” 

“ I do assure you, dear Mary, Virginie knows . 
So lock up her words in your little heart; you 
will want them some day.” 

There was a pause of some moments, while the 
lady was watching the course of a cricket through 
the clover. At last, lifting her head, she spoke 
very gravely — 

“ My little cat ! it is dreadful to be married to 
a good man, and want to be good, and want to 
love him, and yet never like to have him take 


508 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


your hand, and be more glad when he is away 

than when he is at home ; and then to think how 

diffemnt it would all be, if it was only somebody 
else. That will be the way with you, if you let 

them lead you into this ; so don’t you do it, mon 

tnfant .” 

A thought seemed to cross Mary’s mind, as 
she turned to Madame de Frontignac, and said, 
earnestly, — 

“ If a good man were my husband. I would 
never think of another, — I wouldn’t let myself.” 

“ How could you help it, mignonne ? Can you 
stop your thinking ? ” 

Mary said, after a moment’s blush, — 

“ I can try ! ” 

“Ah, yes! But to try all one’s life, — oh, Mary 
that is too hard! Never do it, darling!” 

And then Madame de Frontignac broke out 
into a carolling little French song, which started 
all the birds around into a general orchestral ac- 
companiment. 

This conversation occurred just before Madame 
de Frontignac started for Philadelphia, whither hei 
husband had been summoned as an agent in some 
of the ambitious intrigues of Burr. 

It was with a sigh of regret that she parted 
from her friends at the cottage. She made them 
a hasty good-bye call, — alighting from a splendid 
barouche with two white horses, and filling theii 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


809 


Bimple best-room with the light of her presence 
for a last half-hour. When she bade good-bye to 
Mary, she folded her warmly to her heart, and her 
long lashes drooped heavily with tears. 

After her absence, the lessons were still pursued 
with the gentle, quiet little Abbe, who seemed the 
most patient and assiduous of teachers; but, in 
both houses, theie was that vague ennui , that 
sense of want, which follows the fading of one of 
life’s beautiful dreams ! We bid her adieu tor b 
season; — we may see her again. 



3.0 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


CHAPTER AX. 

TIDINGS FROM OVER SEA. 

The summer passed over the cottage, noiselessly 
as our summers pass. There were white clouds 
walking in saintly troops over blue mirrors of sja, — 
there were purple mornings, choral with bird-sing- 
ing, — there were golden evenings, with long; east- 
ward shadows. Apple-blossoms died quietly m 
the deep orchard-grass, and tiny apples waxed and 
rounded and ripened and gained striper of gold 
and carmine ; and the blue eggs broke into young 
robins, that grew from gaping, yellow mouthed 
youth to fledged and outflying maturity. Came 
autumn, with its long Indian summer, and winter, 
with its flinty, spariding snows, under which all 
Nature lay a sealed and beautiful corpse. Came 
once more the spring winds, the lengthening days, 
the opening flowers, and the ever-renewing miracle 
of buds and blossoms on the apple-trees around 
the cottage. A year had passed since the June 
afternoon when first we showed you Mary stand- 
ing under the spotty shadows of the tree, with the 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


311 


while dove on her hand, — a year in which not 
many outward changes have been made in the re 
lations of the actors of our story. 

Mary calmly spun and read and thought; now 
and then composing with care very English- French 
letters, to be sent to Philadelphia to Madame do 
Frontignac, and receiving short missives of very 
French-English in return. 

The cautions of Madame, in regard to the Doc- 
tor, had not rippled the current of their calm, con- 
fiding intercourse ; and the Doctor, so very satisfied 
and happy in her constant society and affection, 
scarcely as yet meditated distinctly that he needed 
to draw her more closely to himself. If he had a 
passage to read, a page to be copied, a thought to 
express, was she not ever there, gentle, patient, un- 
selfish ? and scarce by the absence of a day did 
she let him perceive that his need of her was be- 
coming so absolute that his hold on her must 
needs be made permanent. 

As to his salary and temporal concerns, they 
had suffered somewhat for his unpopular warfare 
with reigning sins, — a fact which had rather re- 
conciled Mrs. Scudder to the dilatory movement 
of her cherished hopes. Since James was gone, 
what need to press imprudently to new arrange- 
ments ? Better give the little heart time to grow 
wer before starting a subject which a certain 
womanly instinct told her might be met with a 


312 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


struggle. Somehow she never thought without a 
certain heart-sinking of Mary’s look and tone the 
night she spoke with her about James ; she had an 
awful presentiment that that tone of voice be- 
longed to the things that cannot be shaken. But 
yet, Mary seemed so even, so quiet, her delicate 
form filled out and rounded so beautifully, and 
Bhe sang so cheerfully at her work, and, above all, 
she was so entirely silent about James, that Mrs. 
Scudder had hope. 

Ah, that silence! Do not listen to hear whom 
a woman praises, to know where her heart is! do 
not ask for whom she expresses the most earnest 
enthusiasm ! but if there be one she once knew 
well, whose name she never speaks, — if she seem 
to have an instinct to avoid every occasion of its 
mention, — if, when you speak, she drops into 
silence and changes the subject, — why, look there 
for something! just as, when going through deep 
meadow-grass, a bird flies ostentatiously up before 
you, you may know her nest is not there, but far 
off, under distant tufts of fern and buttercup, 
through which she has crept with a silent flutter 
in her spotted breast, to act her pretty little false- 
hood before you. 

Poor Mary’s little nest was along the sedgy 
margin of the sea-shore where grow the tufts of 
golden rod, where wave the reeds, where crimson, 
green, and purple seaweeds float up, like torn 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


318 


fringes of Nereid vestures, and gold and silver 
shells lie on the wet wrinkles of the sands. 

The sea had become to her like a friend, with 
its ever-varying monotony. Somehow she loved 
this old, fresh, blue, babbling, restless giant, who 
had carried away her heart’s love to hide him in 
some far-off palmy island, such as she had often 
heard him tell of in his sea-romances. Sometimes 
she would wander out for an afternoon’s stroll on 
the rocks, and pause by the great Spouting Cave, 
now famous to Newport dilettanti , but then a sa- 
cred and impressive solitude. There the rising tide 
bursts with deafening strokes through a narrow 
opening into some inner cavern, which, with a 
deep thunder-boom, like the voice of an angry lion, 
casts it back in a high jet of foam into the sea. 

Mary often sat and listened to this hollow noise, 
and watched the ever-rising columns of spray as 
they reddened with the transpiercing beams of the 
afternoon sun ; and thence her eye travelled far 
far off over the shimmering starry blue, where sails 
•ooked no bigger than miller’s wings ; and it 
seemed sometimes as if a door were opening by 
which her soul might go out into some eternity, — 
some abyss, so wide and deep, that fathomless 
lines of thought could not sound it. She was no 
longer a girl in a mortal body, but an infinite 
spirit, the adoring companion of Infinite Beauty 
and Infinite Love. 


14 


514 


THE MINISTER’S W00INO. 


As there was an hour when the fisheimen ol 
Galilee saw tkeir Master transfigured, his raiment 
white and glistening, and his face like the light, 
so are there hours when our whole mortal lift 
stands forth in a celestial radiance. From our 
daily lot falls off every weed of care, — from oui 
heart-friends every speck and stain of earthly in- 
firmity. Our horizon widens, and blue, and ame- 
thyst, and gold touch every object. Absent Mends 
and friends gone on the last long journey stand 
once more together, bright with an immortal glow, 
and, like the disciples who saw their Master float- 
ing in the clouds above them, we say, “ Lord, it 
is good to be here ! ” How fair the wife, the hus- 
band, the absent mother, the gray-haired father, 
the manly son, the bright-eyed daughter ! Seen in 
the actual present, all have some fault, some flaw; 
but absent, we see them in their permanent and 
better selves. Of our distant home we remem- 
ber not one dark day, not one servile care, nothing 
but the echo of its holy hymns and the radiance 
of its brightest days, — of our father, not one hasty 
word, but only the fulness of his manly vigor and 
noble tenderness, — of our mother, nothing of mo; 
tal weakness, but a glorified form of love, — of out 
brother, not one teasing, provoking word o c broth- 
erly freedom, but the proud beauty of his nobles 1 
hours, — of our sister, our child, only what is fair* 
est and sweetest. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


315 


This is to life the true ideal, the calm glass, 
Wherein looking, we shall see, that, whatever de- 
fects cling to us, they are not, after all, perma- 
nent, and that we are tending to something nobler 
than we yet are ; — it is “ the earnest of our in- 
heritance until the redemption of the purchased 
possession*’ In the resurrection we shall see our 
friends forever as we see them in these clairvoyant 
hours. 

We are writing thus on and on, linking image 
and thought and feeling, and lingering over every 
flower, and listening to every bird, because just 
before us there lies a dark valley, and we shrink 
and tremble to enter it. 

But it must come, and why do we delay ? 

Towards evening, one afternoon in the latter 
part of June, Mary returned from one of these 
\onely walks by the sea, and entered the kitchen 
It was still in its calm and sober cleanness ; — 
the tall clock ticked with a startling distinctness. 
From the half- closed door of her mother’s bed- 
room, which stood ajar, she heard the chipper of 
Miss Prissy’s voice. She stayed her light foot- 
si eps, and the words that fell on her ear were 
these : — 

“ Miss Marvyn fainted dead away ; — she stood 
it till it came to that; but then she just clapped 
both hands together, as if she ’d been shot, ana 
ell right forward on the floor in a faint ! ” 


31 f THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

What could this be ? There was a quick, in- 
tense whirl of thoughts in Mary’s mind, and then 
came one of those awful moments when the 
powers of life seem to make a dead pause and 
ail things stand still ; and then all seemed to fail 
under her, and the life to sink down, down, down, 
till nothing was but one dim, vague, miserable 
consciousness. 

Mrs. Scudder and Miss Prissy were sitting, talk- 
ing earnestly, on the foot of the bed, when the 
door opened noiselessly, and Mary glided to them 
like a spirit, — no color in cheek or lip, — her 
blue eyes wide with calm horror ; and laying her 
little hand, with a nervous grasp, on Miss Prissy’s 
arm, she said, — 

“ Tell me, — what is it ? — is it ? — is he — 
dead ? ” 

The two women looked at each other, and then 
Mrs. Scudder opened her arms. 

“ My daughter ! ” 

“ Oh ! mother ! mother ! ” 

Then fell that long, hopeless silence, broken 
only by hysteric sobs from Miss Prissy, and an- 
swering ones from the mother; but she lay still 
and quiet, her blue eyes wide and clear, making 
an inarticulate moan. 

“ Oh ! are they sure ? — can it be ? — is he 
dead ? ” at last she gasped. 

u My child, it is too true; all we can say i^ 
Be still, and know that T am God ! ’ ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOUUG. 


31 ? 


“ l shall try to be still, mother,” said Mary 
with a piteous, hopeless voice, like the bleat of a 
dying lamb ; “ but I did not think he could die 1 
I never thought of that ! — I never thought of it 1 
— Oh ’ mother ! mother ! mother ! oh ! what shall J 
d 3 ? ” 

They laid her on her mother’s bed, — the first 
an 1 last resting-place of broken hearts, — and the 
mother sat down by her in silence. Miss Prissy 
stole away into the Doctor’s study, and told him 
all that had happened. 

“ It’s the same to her,” said Miss Prissy, with 
womanly reserve, w as if he ’d been an own 
brother.” 

u What was his spiritual state ? ” said the Doc- 
tor, musingly. 

Miss Prissv looked blank, and answered mourn- 
fully, — 

“ I don’t know.” 

The Doctor entered the room where Mary was 
lying with closed eyes. Those few moments 
seemed to have done the work of years — so 
pale, and faded, and sunken she looked; nothing 
but the painful flutter of the eyelids and lips 
showed that she yet breathed. At a sign from 
Mrs. Scudder, he kneeled by the bed, and began 
to pray, — “ Lord, thou hast been our dwelling- 
place in all generations.” — prayer leep mournful, 
upheaving like the swell of the ocean, surging 


*18 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

apward, under the pressure of mighty sorrows* 
towaids an Almighty heart. 

The truly good are of one language in prayer. 
Whatever lines or angles of thought may separate 
them in other hours, when they pray in extremity , 
all good men pray alike. The Emperor Charles 
V. and Martin Luther, two great generals of 
opposite faiths, breathed out their dying struggle 
in the self-same words. 

There be many tongues and many languages 
of men, — but the language of prayer is one by 
itself, in all and above all. It is the inspiration 
of that Spirit that is ever working with our spirit, 
and constantly lifting us higher than we know, 
and, by our wants, by our woes, by our tears, by 
our yearnings, by our poverty, urging us, with 
mightier and mightier force, against those chains 
of sin which keep us from our God. We speak 
not of things conventionally called prayers, — vain 
mutterings of unawakened spirits talking drowsily 
in sleep, — but of such prayers as come when 
flesh and heart fail, in mighty straits ; — then he 
who prays is a prophet, and a Mightier than he 
speaks in him ; for the “ Spirit helpeth our infirm- 
ities ; for we know not what we should pray foi 
as we ought; but the Spirit itself maketh inter- 
cession for us, with groanings which cannot be 
<ittered.” 

So the voice of supplication, upheaving from 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


9U 


that great heart, so childlike in its humility, rose 
with a wisdom and a pathos beyond what he 
dreamed in his intellectual hours ; it uprose even 
as a strong angel, whose brow is solemnly calm, 
and whose ’wings shed healing dews of paradise. 



THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 




CHAPTER XXI 

THE BRUISED FL AX-FLOWER. 

The next day broke calm and fair. The rooms 
Bang remorselessly in the apple-tree, and were 
answered by bobolink, oriole, and a whole tribe 
of ignorant little bits of feathered happiness that 
danced among the leaves. Golden and glorious 
unclosed those purple eyelids of the East, and 
regally came up the sun ; and the treacherous sea 
broke into ten thousand smiles, laughing and dan 
cing with every ripple, as unconsciously as if nc 
form dear to human hearts had gone down be- 
neath it, Oh ! treacherous, deceiving beauty of 
outward things! beauty, wherein throbs not one 
answering nerve to human pain ! 

Mary rose early and was about her morning 
work. Her education was that of the soldier, who 
must know himself no more, whom no personal 
pain must swerve from the slightest minutiae of 
duty. So she was there, at her usual hour, dressed 
with the same cool neatness, her brown hair parted 
in satin bands, and only the colorless cheek and 
\ip differing from the Mary of yesterday. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


321 


How strange this external habit o r living! One 
thinks how to stick in a pin, and how to tie a 
string, — one busies one’s self with folding robes, 
and putting away napkins, the day after some 
stroke that has cut the inner life in two, with the 
heart’s blood dropping quietly at every step. 

Yet it is better so! Happy those whom stern 
principle or long habit or hard necessity calls from 
the darkened room, the languid trance of pain, in 
which the wearied heart longs to indulge, and 
gives this trite prose of common life, at which 
our weak and wearied appetites so revolt! Mary 
never thought of such a thing as self-indulgence ; 
— this daughter of the Puritans had her seed 
within her. Aerial in her delicacy, as the blue- 
eyed flax-flower with which they sowed their fields, 
she had yet its strong fibre, which no stroke of 
the flail could break ; bruising and hackling only 
made it fitter for uses of homely utility. Mary, 
therefore, opened the kitchen-door at dawn, and, 
after standing one moment to breathe the fresh- 
ness, began spreading the cloth for an early break- 
fast. Mrs. Scudder, the mean while, was kneading 
the bread that had been set to rise over-night; 
and the oven was crackling and roaring with a 
large-throated, honest garrulousness. 

But, ever and anon, as the mother worked, she 
followed the motions of her child anxiously. 

« Mary, my dear,” she said, “ the eggs are giv- 

14 * 


322 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


mg out; hadn’t you better run to the barn and 
get a few ? ” 

Most mothers are instinctive philosophers. No 
treaiise on the laws of nervous fluids could have 
taught Mrs. Scudder a better role for this morning, 
than her tender gravity, and her constant expedients 
to break and ripple, by changing employments, that 
deep, deadly under-current of thoughts which she 
feared might undermine her child’s life. 

Mary went into the barn, stopped a moment, 
and took out a handful of corn to throw to her 
hens, who had a habit of running towards her 
and cocking an expectant eye to her little hand, 
whenever she appeared. All came at once flying 
towards her, — speckled, white, and gleamy with 
hues between of tawny orange-gold, — the cocks, 
magnificent with the blade-like waving of their 
tails, — and, as they chattered and cackled and 
pressed and crowded about her, pecking the corn, 
even where it lodged in the edge of her little 
shoes, she said, “ Poor things, I am glad they en- 
joy it!” — and even this one little act of love to 
the ignorant fellowship below her carried away 
some of the choking pain which seemed all the 
while suffocating her heart. Then, climbing into 
the hay, she sought the nest and filled her little 
basket with 3ggs, warm, translucent, pinky-white 
in their freshness. She felt, for a moment, the 
customary animation in surveying her new treas> 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Lires ; but suddenly, like a vision rising before her, 
came a remembrance of once when she and James 
were children together and had been seeking eggs 
just there. He flashed before her eyes, the bright 
boy with the long black lashes, the dimpled cheeks, 
the merry eyes, just as he stood and threw the hay 
over her when they tumbled and laughed together, 
— and she sat down with a sick faintness, and thes 
turned and walked wearily in. 




THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


m 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE HOUSE OF MOURNING 

Mary returned to the house with her oasket of 
warm, fresh eggs, which she set down mournfully 
upon the table. In her heart there was one conscious 
want and yearning, and that was to go to the 
triends of him she had lost, — to go to his mother 
The first impulse of bereavement is to stretch ou 
the hands towards what was nearest and dearest 
to the departed. 

Her dove came fluttering down out of the tree, 
and settled on her hand, and began asking in his 
dumb way to be noticed. Mary stroked his white- 
feathers, and bent her head down over them, till 
they were wet with tears. “ Oh, birdie, you live, 
but he is gone ! ” she said. Then suddenly putting | 
it gently from her, and going near and throwing her 
arms around her mother’s neck, — “ Mother,” she 
said, “I want to go up to Cousin Ellen’s.” (This 
was the familiar name by which she always called 
Mrs. Marvyn.) “Can’t you go with me, mother?” 

" My daughter, I have thought of it. I hurried 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


325 


about my baking this morning, and sent word to 
Mr. Jenkyns that he needn’t come to see about the 
chimney, because I expected to go as soon as 
breakfast should be out of the way. So, hurry, 
now, boil some eggs, and get on the cold beef and 
potatoes ; for I see Solomon and Amaziah coming 
in with the milk. They’ll want their breakfast im- 
mediately.’' 

The breakfast for the hired men was soon ar- 
ranged on the table, and Mary sat down to pre- 
side while her mother was going on with her bak- 
ing, — introducing various loaves of white and 
brown bread into the capacious oven by means of 
a long iron shovel, and discoursing at intervals 
with Solomon, with regard to the different farm- 
ing operations which he had in hand for the 
day. 

Solomon was a tall, large-boned man, brawny 
and angular ; with a face tanned by the sun, and 
graven with those considerate lines which New 
England so early writes on the faces of her sons. 
He was reputed an oracle in matters of agricul- 
ture and cattle, and, like oracles generally, was 
prudently sparing of his responses. Amaziah was 
one of those uncouth overgrown boys of eighteen 
whose physical bulk appears to have so suddenly 
developed that the soul has more matter than she 
has learned to recognize, so that the hapless indi- 
vidual is always awkwardly conscious of too much 


326 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


limb ; and in Amaziah’s case, this consciousness 
grew particularly distressing when Mary was in the 
room. He liked to have her there, he said, —“but, 
somehow, she was so white and pretty, she made 
him feel sort o’ awful-like.” 

Of course, as such poor mortals always do, he 
must, on this particular morning, blunder into pre- 
cisely the wrong subject. 

“S’pose you’ve heerd the news that Jeduthun 
Pettibone brought home in the ‘ Flying Scud,’ 
’bout the wreck o’ the ‘ Monsoon ’ ; it’s an awful 
providence, that ’ar’ is, — a’ n’t it? Why, Jeduthun 
says she jest crushed like an egg-shell”; — and with 
that Amaziah illustrated the fact by crushing an 
egg in his great brown hand. 

Mary did not answer. She could not grow any 
paler than she was before ; a dreadful curiosity 
came over her, but her lips could frame no ques- 
tion. Amaziah went on : — 

“ Ye see, the cap’en he got killed with a spar 
when the blow fust come on, and Jim Marvyn he 
commanded; and Jeduthun says that he seemed 
to have the spirit of ten men in him ; he worked 
and he watched, and he was everywhere at once, 
and he kep’ ’em all up for three days, till finally 
they lost their rudder, and went drivin’ right onto 
the rocks. When they come in sight, he come 
up on deck, and says he, ‘ Well, my boys, we’re 
headin’ right into eternity,’ says he, ‘ and our chan* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


327 


cet? Cor this world a’n’t worth mentioning any on 
us , but we’ll all have one try for our lives. Boys, 
I’ve tried to do my duty by you and the ship, — 
but God’s will be done ! All I have to ask now 
is, that, if any of you git to shore, you’ll find my 
mother and tell her I died thinkin’ of her and 
father and my dear friends.’ That was the last 
Jeduthun saw of him ; for in a few minutes more 
the ship struck, and then it was every man for 
himself. Laws ! Jeduthun says there couldn’t no- 
body have stood beatin’ agin them rocks, unless 
they was all leather and inger-rubber like him. 
Why, he says the waves would take strong men 
and jest crush ’em against the rocks like smashin’ 
a pie-plate ! ” 

Here Mary’s paleness became livid; she made a 
hasty motion to rise from the table, and Solomon 
trod on the foot of the narrator. 

“ You seem to forget that friends and relations 
has feelin’s,” he said, as Mary hastily went into 
her own room. 

Amaziah, suddenly awakened to the fact that 
he had been trespassing, sat with mouth half open 
and a stupefied look of perplexity on his face for 
a moment, and then, rising hastily, said, “ Well, 
Sol, I guess I’ll go an ; yoke up the steers.” 

At eight o’clock all the morning toils were over, 
the wide kitchen cool and still, and the one-horse 
wagon standing at the door, into which climbed 


328 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Mary, her mother, and the Doctor ; for, though 
invested with no spiritual authority, and charged 
with no ritual or form for hours of affliction, the 
religion of New England always expects her min- 
ister as a first visitor in every house of mourn- 
ing. 

The ride was a sorrowful and silent one. The 
Doctor, propped upon his cane, seemed to reflect 
deeply. 

“ Have you been at all conversant with the ex- 
ercises of our young friend’s mind on the subject 
of religion ? ” he asked. 

Mrs. Scudder did not at first reply. The. re- 
membrance of James’s last letter flashed over her 
mind, and she felt the vibration of the frail child 
beside her, in whom every nerve was quivering. 
After a moment, she said, — It does not become us 
to judge the spiritual state of any one. James’s 
mind was in an unsettled way when he left , 
but who can say what wonders may have been 
effected by divine grace since then ? ” 

This conversation fell on the soul of Mary like 
the sound of clods falling on a coffin to the ear 
of one buried alive; — she heard it with a dull, 
smothering sense of suffocation. That question to 
be raised? — and about one, too, for whom she 
could have given her own soul ? At this moment 
she felt how idle is the meie hope or promise of 
personal salvation made to one who has passed 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


329 


beyond the life of self, and struck deep the roots 
of his existence in others. She did not utter a 
word; — how could she? A doubt, — the faintest 
shadow of a doubt, — in such a case, falls on the 
soul wi f h the weight of mountain certainty ; and 
in that short ride she felt what an infinite pain 
may be locked in one small, silent breast. 

The wagon drew up to the house of mourning. 
Cato stood at the gate, and came forward, offi- 
ciously, to help them out. “ Mass’r and Missis 
will be glad to see you,” he said. “ It’s a drefful 
stroke has come upon ’em.” 

Candace appeared at the door. There was a 
majesty of sorrow in her bearing, as she received 
them. She said not a word, but pointed with her 
finger towards the inner room ; but as Mary lifted 
up her faded, weary face to hers, her whole soul 
Beemed to heave towards her like a billow, and 
she took her up in her arms and broke forth into 
sobbing, and, carrying her in, as if she had been 
a child, set her down in the inner room and sat 
down beside her. 

Mrs. Marvyn and her husband sat together, hold- 
ing each other’s hands, the open Bible between 
them. For a few moments nothing was to be 
heard but sobs and unrestrained weeping, and 
then all kneeled down to pray. 

After they rose up, Mr. Zebedee Marvyn stood 
for a moment thoug itfully, and then said, - u If 


330 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

it had pleased the Lord to give me a sure evi- 
dence of my son’s salvation, I could have given 
him up with all my heart; but now, whatever 
there may be. I have seen none.” He stood in 
an attitude of hopeless, heart-smitten dejection 
which contrasted painfully with his usual upright 
carriage and the firm lines of his face. 

Mrs. Marvyn started as if a sword had pierced 
her, passed her arm round Mary’s waist, with a 
strong, nervous clasp, unlike her usual calm self, 
and said, — “ Stay with me, daughter, to-day! — 
stay with me ! ” 

“ Mary can stay as long as you wish, cousin,” 
said Mrs. Scudder ; “ we have nothing to call her 
home.” 

“ Come with me!” said Mrs. Marvyn to Mary 
opening an adjoining door into her bedroom, and 
drawing her in with a sort of suppressed vehe- 
mence, — “I want you! — I must have you!” 

“ Mrs. Marvyn’ s state alarms me,” said her hus- 
band, looking apprehensively after her when the 
door was closed ; “ she has not 3hed any tears, 
nor slept any, since she heard this news. You 
know that her mind has been in a peculiar and 
unhappy state with regard to religious things for 
many years. I was in hopes she might feel free 
to open her exercises of mind to the Doctor.” 

“ Perhaps she will feel more freedom with Mary,’ 
said the Doctor. “ There is no healing for such 


TUrt MINISTER’S WOOING. 


MV % 


troubles except in unconditional submission to In- 
finite Wisdom and Goodness. The Lord reign- 
eth, and will at last bring infinite good out of 
evil, whether our small portion of existence be 
included or not.” 

After a few moments more of conference, Mrs. 
Scudder and the Poctor departed, leaving Marv 
&lone in the house of mourning. 


THE MINISTER’S W0012U* 




CHAPTER XXI1L 

VIEWS OF DIVINE GOVERNMENT. 

We have said before, what we now repeat, that 
it is impossible to write a story of New England 
life and manners for superficial thought or shallow 
feeling. They who would fully understand the 
springs which moved the characters with whom 
we now associate must go down with us to the 
very depths. 

Never was there a community where the roots 
of common life shot down so deeply, and were so 
intensely grappled around things sublime and eter- 
nal. The founders of it were a body of confes- 
sors and martyrs, who turned their backs on the 
whole glory of the visible, to found in the wilder- 
ness a republic of which the God of Heaven and 
Earth should be the sovereign power. For the 
first hundred years grew this community, shut out 
by a fathomless ocean from the existing world, 
and divided by an antagonism not less deep 
from all the reigning ideas of nominal Christen 
dom. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 333 

In a community thus unworldly must have 
arisen a mode of thought, energetic, original, and 
sublime. The leaders of thought and feeling were 
the ministry, and we boldly assert that the spec- 
tacle of the early ministry of New England was 
one to which the world gives no parallel. Living 
an intense, earnest, practical life, mostly tilling the 
earth with their own hands, they yet carried on 
the most startling and original religious investi- 
gations with a simplicity that might have been 
deemed audacious, were it not so reverential. All 
old issues relating to government, religion, ritual, 
and forms of church organization having for them 
passed away, they went straight to the heart of 
things, and boldly confronted the problem of uni- 
versal being. They had come out from the .world 
as witnesses to the most solemn and sacred of 
human rights. They had accustomed themselves 
boldly to challenge and dispute all sham preten- 
sions and idolatries of past ages, — to question 
the right of kings m the State, and of prelates in 
the Church ; and now they turned the same bold 
inquiries towards the Eternal Throne, and threw 
down their glove in the lists as authorized defend- 
ers of every mystery in the Eternal Government 
The task they proposed to themselves was that 
oi reconciling the most tremendous facts of sin 
and evil, present and eternal, with those concep- 
tions of Infinite Power and Benevolence which 


334 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


their own strong and generous natures enabled 
them so vividly to realize. In the intervals of 
planting and harvesting, they were busy with the 
toils of adjusting the laws of a universe. Sol- 
emnly simple, they made long journeys in their 
old one-horse chaises, to settle with each other 
some nice point of celestial jurisprudence, and to 
compare their maps of the Infinite. Their letters 
to each other form a literature altogether unique. 
Hopkins sends to Edwards the younger his scheme 
of the universe, in which he starts with the prop- 
osition, that God is infinitely above all obligations 
of any kind to his creatures. Edwards replies 
with the brusque comment, — " This is wrong ; 
God has no more right to injure a creature than 
a creature has to injure God ; ” and each prob- 
ably about that time preached a sermon on his 
own views, which was discussed by every farmer, 
in intervals of plough and hoe, by every woman 
and girl, at loom, spinning-wheel, or wash-tub 
New England was one vast sea, surging from 
depths to heights with thought and discussion on 
the most insoluble of mysteries. And it is to be 
added, that no man or woman accepted any the- 
ory or speculation simply as theory or speculation’ 
all was profoundly real and vital, — a foundation 
on which actual life was based with intensest 
earnestness. 

T'le views of human existence which resulted 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


335 


&om this course of training were gloomy enough 
to oppress any heart which did not rise above 
them by triumphant faith or sink below them by 
brutish insensibility ; for they included every moral 
problem of natural or revealed religion, divested 
of all those softening poetries and tender dra- 
peries which forms, ceremonies, and rituals had 
thrown around them in other parts and ages of 
Christendom. The human race, without exception, 
coming into existence u under God’s wrath and 
curse,” with a nature so fatally disordered, that, 
although perfect free agents, men were infallibly 
certain to do nothing to Divine acceptance until 
regenerated by the supernatural aid of God’s Spir- 
it, — this aid being given only to a certain de- 
creed number of the human race, the rest, with 
enough free agency to make them responsible, but 
without this indispensable assistance exposed to 
the malignant assaults of evil spirits versed in 
every art of temptation, were sure to fall hope- 
lessly into perdition. The standard of what con- 
stituted a true regeneration, as presented in such 
treatises as Edwards on the AfFections, and others of 
the times, made this change to be something so high, 
disinterested, and superhuman, so removed from all 
natural and common haoits and feelings, that the 
most earnest and devoted, whose whole life had 
been a constant travail of endeavor, a tissue of 
almost unearthly disinterestedness, often lived a» a 


$36 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


died with only a glimmering hope of its attain* 
ment. 

According to any views then entertained of the 
evidences of a true regeneration, the number of 
the whole human race who could be supposed as 
yet to have received this grace was so small, that, 
as to any numerical valuation, it must have been 
expressed as an infinitesimal. Dr. Hopkins in many 
places distinctly recognizes the fact, that the great- 
ei part of the human race, up to his time, had 
been eternally lost, — and boldly assumes the ground, 
that this amount of sin and suffering, being the 
best and most necessary means of the greatest 
final amount of happiness, was not merely permit- 
ted, but distinctly chosen, decreed, and provided 
for, as essential in the schemes of Infinite Benevo- 
lence. He held that this decree not only permit- 
ted each individual act of sin, but also took meas- 
ures to make it certain, though, by an exercise of 
infinite skill, it accomplished this result without 
violating human free agency. 

The preaching of those times was animated by 
an unflinching consistency which never shrank 
from carrying an idea to its remotest logical verge 
The sufferings of the lost were not kept from 
view, bul proclaimed with a terrible power. Dr. 
Hopkins boldly asserts, that “ all the use which 
God will have for them is to suffer; this is all the 
end they can answer; therefore all their faculties 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 337 

and their whole capacities, will be employed and 

used for this end The body can by 

omnipotence be made capable of suffering the 
greatest imaginable pain, without producing disso- 
lution, or abating the least degree of life or sensi- 
bility. .... One way in which God will 
show his power in punishing the wicked will be 
in strengthening and upholding their bodies and 
souls in lorments which otherwise would be intol- 
erable.” 

The sermons preached by President Edwards on 
this subject are so terrific in their refined poetry 
of torture, that very few persons of quick sensi- 
bility could read them through without agony; and 
it is related, that, when, in those calm and tender 
tones which never rose to passionate enunciation, 
he read these discourses, the house was often fill- 
ed with shrieks and wailings, and that a brother 
minister once laid hold of his skirts, exclaiming, in 
an involuntary agony, “ Oh ! Mr. Edwards ! Mr. 
Edwards! is God not a God of mercy?” 

Not that these men were indifferent or insensi 
ble to the dread words they spoke; their whole 
fi res and deportment bore drilling witness to their 
linearity. Edwards set apart special days of fast- 
Lig, in view of the dreadful doom of the lost, in 
which he was wont to walk the floor, weeping and 
wringing his hands. Hopkins fasted every Satur- 
day. David Brainerd gave up every refinement of 
15 


m 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


civilized life to weep and pray at the feel of hard’ 
ened savages, if by any means he might save one 
All, by lives of eminent purity and earnestness, gave 
awful weight and sanction to their words. 

[f we add to this statement the fact, that it was 
always proposed to every inquiring soul, as an evi- 
dence of regeneration, that it should truly and 
heartily accept all the ways of God thus declared 
right and lc rely, and from the heart submit to Him 
as the 01 ly ju 3 t and good, it will be seen what 
materials of tremendous internal conflict and agi- 
tation were all the while working in every bosom. 
Almost all the histories of religious experience of 
those times relate paroxysms of opposition to God 
and fierce rebellion, expressed in language which 
appalls the very soul, — followed, at length, by 
mysterious elevations of faith and reactions of 
confiding love, the result of Divine interposition, 
which carried the soul far above the region of the 
intellect, into that of direct spiritual intuition. 

President Edwards records that he was once in 
this state of enmity, — that the facts of the Di- 
vine administration seemed horrible to him, — and 
that this opposition was overcome by no course of 
reasoning, but by an “ inward and sweet sense” 
which came to him once when walking alone in 
the fields, and, looking up into the blue sky, he 
saw the blending of the Divine majesty with a 
caim, sweet, and almost infinite meekness. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


339 


Tiie piety which grew up under such a system 
was, of necessity, energetic, — it was the uprous- 
ing of the whole energy of the human soul, pierc- 
ed and wrenched and probed from her lowest depths 
to her topmost heights with every awful life-force 
possible to existence. He whose faith in God 
came clear through these terrible tests would be 
sure never to know greater ones. He might cer- 
tainly challenge earth or heaven, things present or 
things to come, to swerve him from llns grand al- 
legiance. 

But it is to be conceded, that these systems, so 
admirable in relation to the energy, earnestness, 
and acuteness of their authors, when received as 
absolute truth, and as a basis of actual life, had, 
on minds of a certain class, the effect of a slow 
poison, producing life-habits of morbid action very 
different from any which ever followed the simple 
reading of the Bible. They differ from the New 
Testament as the living embrace of a friend doe? 
from his lifeless body, mapped out under the knife 
of the anatomical demonstrator; — every nerve and 
muscle is there, but to a sensitive spirit there is the 
very chill of death in the analysis. 

All systems that deal with the infinite are, be- 
sides, exposed to danger from smail, unsuspected 
admixtures of human error, which become deadly 
when carried to such vast results. The smallest 
Bpeck of earth’s dust, in the focus of an infinir* 


340 


THE MINISTER’S Wt JINU. 


lens, appears magnified among the heavenly orbs 
as a frightful monster. 

Thus it happened, that, while strong spirits 
walked, palm-crowned, with victorious hymns, along 
these sublime paths, feebler and more sensitive 
ones lay along the track, bleeding away in life- 
long despair. Fearful to them were the shadows 
that lay over the cradle and the grav*» The 
mother clasped her babe to her bosom, and looked 
with" shuddering " to the awful coming trial of free 
agency, with its tem&Js responsibilities and risks; 
and, as she thought of the 'isSsite chmces against 
her beloved, almost wished it might die in infancy. 
But when the stroke of death came, and some 
young, thoughtless head was laid suddenly low, 
who can say what silent anguish of loving hearts 
sounded the dread depths of eternity with the 
awful question, Where ? 

In no other time or place of Christendom have 
so fearful issues been presented to the mind. 
Some church interposed its protecting shield ; the 
Christian born and baptized child was supposed 
in some wise rescued from the curse of the fall, 
and related to the great redemption, — to be a 
member of Christ’s family, and, if ever so sinful 
still infolded in some vague sphere of hope and 
protection. Augustine solaced the dread anxieties 
of trembling love by prayers offered for the dead 
n times when the Church above and on earth 


THE MINISTER’S i\ GOING. 


341 


presented itself to the eye of the mourner as a 
great assembly with one accord lifting interceding 
hands for the parted soul. 

But the clear logic and intense individualism 
of New England deepened the problems of the 
Augustinian faith, while they swept away all those 
softening provisions so earnestly clasped to the 
throbbing heart of that, great poet of theology. 
No rite, no form, no paternal relation, no faith or 
prayer of church, earthly or heavenly, interposed 
the slightest shield between the trembling spirit 
and Eternal Justice. The individual entered eter- 
nity alone, as if he had no interceding relation in 
the universe. 

This, then, was the awful dread which was con- 
stantly underlying life. This it was which caused 
the tolling bell in green hollows and lonely dells 
to be a sound which shook the soul and searched 
the heart with fearful questions. And this it was 
that was lying with mountain weight on the soul 
of the mother, too keenly agonized to feel that 
doubt in such a case was any less a torture than 
the most dreadful certainty. 

Hers was a nature more reasoning than crea- 
tive and poetic ; and whatever she believed bound 
her mind in strictest chains to its logical results 
She delighted in the regions of mathematical 
knowledge, and walked them as a native home 
but the commerce with abstract certainties fitted 


342 


THE MINISTER 3 WOOING. 


her mind still more to be stiffened and enchained 
by glacial reasonings, in regions where spiiitua 
intuitions are as necessary as wings to birds. 

Mary was by nature of the class who never 
reason abstractly, whose intellections all begin in 
the heart, which sends them colored with its warm 
life-tint to the brain. Her perceptions of the same 
subjects were as different from Mrs. Marvyn’s as 
his who revels only in color from his who is busy 
with the dry details of mere outline. The one 
mind was arranged like a map, and the other like 
a picture. In all the system which had been ex- 
plained to her, her mind selected points on which 
it seized with intense sympathy, which it dwelt 
upon and expanded till all else fell away. The 
sublimity of disinterested benevolence, — the har- 
mony and order of a system tending in its final 
results to infinite happiness, — the goodness of 
God, — the love of a self-sacrificing Redeemer, — 
were all so many glorious pictures, which she re- 
volved in her mind with small care for their logi- 
cal relations. 

Mrs. Marvyn had never, in all the course of 
their intimacy, opened her mouth to Mary on the 
subject of religion. It was not an uncommon inch 
dent of those times for persons of great elevation 
and puiity of character to be familiarly known 
and spoken of as living under a cloud of religious 
gloom ; and it was simply regarded as one morn 


THE MINIS! Eh’S WOOING. 


343 


mysterious instance of the workings of that infi- 
nite decree which denied to them the speciaJ illu- 
mination of the Spirit. 

When Mrs. Marvyn had drawn Mary with her 
into her room, she seemed like a person almost in 
frenzy She shut and bolted the door, drew hei 
to the foot of the bed, and, throwing her arms 
round her, rested her hot and throbbing forehead 
on her shoulder. She pressed her thin hand over 
her eyes, and then, suddenly drawing back, looked 
her in the face as one resolved to speak some- 
thing long suppressed. Her soft brown eyes had 
a flash of despairing wildness in them, like that 
of a hunted animal turning in its death-struggle 
on its pursuer. 

“ Mary,” she said, u I can’t help it, — don’t mind 
what I say, but I must speak or die! Mary, I 
cannot, will not, be resigned ! — it is all hard, 
unjust, cruel ! — to all eternity I will say so ! To 
me there is no goodness, no justice, no mercy in 
anything! Life seems to me the most tremendous 
doom that can be inflicted on a helpless being! 
What had we done , that it should be sent upon 
us ? Why were we made to love so, to hope so, 

our hearts so full of feeling, and all the law 9 
W Nature marching over us, — never stopping for 
dut agony? Why, we can suffer so in this life 
hat we had better never nave been born ! 

« But, Mary, think what a moment life is ! think 


344 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


of those awful ages of eternity! and then think 
of all God’s power and knowledge used on the 
lost to make them suffer! think that all but the 
merest fragment of mankind have gone into this, 
— are in it now! The number of the elect is so 
small we can scarce count them for anything 1 
Think what noble minds, what warm, generous 
hearts, what splendid natures are wrecked and 
thrown away by thousands and tens of thousands 
How we love each other! how our hearts weave 
into each other! how more than glad we should 

be to die for each other ! And all this ends 

O God, how must it end ? — Mary ! it isn’t my 
sorrow only! What right have I to mourn? h 
* ny son any better than any other mother’s son? 
Thousands of thousands, whose mothers loved 
them as I love mine, are gone there ! — Oh, my 
wedding-day! Why did they rejoice? Brides 
should wear mourning, — the bells should toll for 
every wedding ; every new family is built over this 
awful pit of despair, and only one in a thousand 
escapes ! ” 

Pale, aghast, horror-stricken, Mary stood dumb, 
as one who in the dark and storm sees by the 
sudden g*are of lightning a chasm yawning under 
foot. It was amazement and dimness of anguish, 
-the dreadful words struck on the very centre 
where her soul rested. She felt as if the point 
of a wedge were being driven between her life 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


345 


and her lifVs life, — between her and her God. 
She clasped her hands instinctively on her bosom, 
as if to hold there some cherished image, and said, 
in a piercing voice of supplication, “ My God ! my 
God ! oh, where art Thou ? ” 

Mrs. Marvyn walked up and down the room 
with a vivid spot of red in each cheek, and a 
baleful fire in her eyes, talking in rapid soliloquy, 
scarcely regarding her listener, absorbed in her own 
enkindled thoughts. 

“ Dr. Hopkins says that this is all best, — better 
than it would have been in any other possible 
way, — that God chose it because it was for a 
greater final good, — that He not only chose it, 
but took means to make it certain, — that He or- 
dains every sin, and does all that is necessary to 
make it certain, — that He creates the vessels of 
wrath and fits them for destruction, and that He 
has an infinite knowledge by which He can do it 
without violating their free agency. — So much 
the worse ! What a use of infinite knowledge ! 
What if men should do so? What if a father 
should take means to make it certain that his 
poor little child should be an abandoned wretch, 
without violating his free agency ? So much the 
worse, I say ! — They say He does this so that 
He may show to all eternity, by their example, 
the evil nature of sin and i + s consequences! This 

all that the greater part of the human race 


346 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


have been used for yet; and it is all right, be 
cause an overplus of infinite happiness is yet to 
be wrought out by it ! — It is not right ! No pos 
sible amount of good to ever so many can make 
it right to deprave ever so few ; — happiness and 
misery cannot be measured so ! I never can think 
it right, — never ! — Yet they say our salvation 
depends on our loving God, — loving Him better 
than ourselves, — loving Him better than our dear- 
est friends. — It is impossible ! — it is contrary to 
the laws of my nature! I can never love God! 
I can never praise Him ! — I am lost ! lost ! 
lost! And what is worse, I cannot redeem my 
friends ! Oh, I could suffer forever, — how will- 
ingly ! — if I could save him ! — But oh, eternity, 
3ternity! Frightful, unspeakable woe! No end! 
— no bottom ! — no shore ! — no hope ! — O God ! 
O God!” 

Mrs. Marvyn’s eyes grew wilder, — she -walked 
the floor, wringing her hands,- -and her words 
mingled with shrieks and moans, became whirling 
and confused, as when in autumn a storm drives 
the leaves in dizzy mazes. 

Mary was alarmed, — the ecstacy of despair was 
just verging on insanity. She rushed out and 
called Mr. Marvyn. 

“Oh! come in! do! quick! — I’m afraid her 
mind is going!” she said. 

“ It is what I feared,” he said, rising from wher# 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


347 


he sat reading his great Bible, with an air of 
heartbroken dejection. u Since she heard this news, 
she has not slept nor shed a tear. The Lord hath 
covered us with a cloud in the day of his fierce 
anger ” 

He came into the room, and tried to take his 
wife into his arms. She pushed him violently 
back, her eyes glistening with a fierce light. 
“ Leave me alone!” she said, — “I am a lost 
spirit ! ” 

These words were uttered in a shriek that went 
through Mary’s heart like an arrow. 

A.t this moment, Candace, who had been anx- 
iously listening at the door for an hour past, sud- 
denly burst into the room. 

“ Lor’ bress ye, Squire Marvyn, we won’t hab 
her goin’ on dis yer way,” she said. “ Do talk 
gospel to her, can’t ye? — ef you can’t, I will. 

“ Come, ye poor little lamb,” she said, walking 
straight up to Mrs. Marvyn, u come to ole Can- 
dace!” — and with that she gathered the pale form 
to her bosom, and sat down and began rocking 
her, as if she had been a babe. “Honey, darlin’, 
ye a’n’t right, — dar’s a drefful mistake somewhar,” 
she said. “ Why, de Lord a’n’t like what ye 
tink, — He loves ye, honey! Why, jes’ feel how 1 
loves ye, — poor ole black Candace, — an’ I a’n’t 
better’ n Him as made me’ Who was it wore de 
crown o’ thorns, lamb? — wno was it sweat great 


I 48 THF MINISTER' S WOOING. 

Jrops o’ blood? — who was it said, ‘Father, for- 
give dem’? Say, honey! — wasn’t it de Lord dat 
made ye ? — Dar, dar, now yeV cryin’ ! — cry away 
and ease yer poor little heart! He died for Mass’r 
Jim, — loved him and died for him, — jes’ give np 
his sweet, precious body and soul for him on de 
cross ! Laws, jes’ leave him in Jesus’s hands ! 
Why, honey, dar’s de very print o’ de nails in 
his hands now ! ” 

The flood-gates were rent; and healing sobs and 
tears shook the frail form, as a faded lily shakes 
under the soft rains of summer. All in the room 
wept together. 

“ Now, honey,” said Candace, after a pause of 
some minutes, “ I knows our Doctor ’s a mighty 
good man, an’ larned, — an’ in fair weather I ha’n’t 
no ’bjection to yer hearin’ all about dese yer great 
an’ mighty tings he’s got to say. But, honey, dey 
won’t do for you now ; sick folks mus’n’t hab 
strong meat; an’ times like dese, dar jest a’n’t but 
one ting to come to, an’ dat ar’s Jesus. Jes’ come 
right down to whar poor ole black Candace has 
to stay allers, — it’s a good place, darlin’! Look 
right a" Jesus. Tell ye, honey, ye can’t live no 
other way now. Don’t ye ’member how He looked 
on His mother, when she stood faintin’ an’ trem- 
blin’ under de cross, jes’ like you ? He knows all 
about mothers 1 hearts ; He won’t break yours. Jt 
was jes’ ’cause He know’d we’d come into straits 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


349 


like dis yer, dat he went through al] des£ tings, — 
Him, de Lord o' Glory! Is dis Him you was a- 
talkin’ about ? — Him you can’t love ? Look at 
Him, an’ see ef you can’t. Look an’ see what 
He is ! — don’t ask no questions, and don’t go to 
no reasonin’s, — jes’ look at Him , hangin’ dar, so 
sweet and patient, on de cross ! All dey could do 
couldn’t stop his lovin’ ’em ; he prayed for ’em 
wid all de breath he had. Dar’s a God you can 
Love, a’n’t dar ? Candace loves Him, — poor, ole, 
foolish, black, wicked Candace, — and she knows 
He loves her,” — and here Candace broke down 
into torrents of weeping. 

They laid the mother, faint and weary, on her 
bed, and beneath the shadow of that suffering 
cross came down a healing sleep on those weary 
eyelids. 

u Honey,” said Candace, mysteriously, after she 
had drawn Mary out of the room, “ don’t ye gf 
for to troublin’ yer mind wid dis yer. I’m cla? 
Mass’r James is one o’ de ’lect ; and I’m clar dar’? 
consid’able more o’ de ’lect dan people tink. Why* 
.Jesus didn’t die for nothin’, — all dat love a’n’t 
gwine to be wasted. De ’lect is more’n you or J 
knows, honey ! Dar’s de Spirit , — He’ll give it to 
em ; and ef Mass’r James is called an’ took, de- 
pend upon it de Lord has got him ready — course 
He has, — so don’t ye go to layin’ on your poo> 
heart what no mortal creetur can live under 


350 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


'cause, as we’s got to live in dis yei world, it's 
quite clar de Lord must ha’ fixed it so we can , 
and ef tings was as some folks suppose, why, we 
couldn't live, and dar wouldn’t be no sense in 
anyting dat goes on.” 

The sudden shock of these scenes was followed, 
in Mrs. Marvyn’s case, by a low, lingering fever 
Her room was darkened, and she lay on her bed, 
a pale, suffering form, with scarcely the ability to 
raise her hand. The shimmering twilight of the 
sick-room fell on white napkins, spread over stands, 
where constantly appeared new vials, big and lit- 
tle, as the physician made his daily visit, and 
prescribed now this drug and now that, for a 
wound that had struck through the soul. 

Mary remained many days at the white house, 
because, to the invalid, no step, no voice, no hand 
was like hers. We see her there now, as she sits 
in the glimmering by the bed-curtains, — her head 
a little drooped, as droops a snowdrop over a 
grave; — oae ray of light from a round hole in 
the closed shutters falls on her smooth-parted hair 
her small hands are clasped on her knees, hei 
mouth has lines of sad compression, and in hef 
eyes are infinite questionings. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


3dl 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MYSTERIES. 

When Mr3. Marvyn began to amend, Mary re* 
turned to the home cottage, and resumed the 
details of her industrious and quiet life. 

Between her and her two best friends had fallei 
a curtain of silence. The subject that filled all hei 
thoughts could not be named between them. The 
Doctor often looked at her pale cheeks and droop- 
ing form with a face of honest sorrow, and heaved 
deep sighs as she passed ; but he did not find 
any power within himself by which he could 
approach her. When he would speak, and she 
turned her sad, patient eyes so gently on him, the 
words went back again to his heart, and there, 
taking a second thought, spread upward wing in 
prayer. 

Mrs. Scudder sometimes came to her room after 
she was gone to bed, and found her weeping ; and 
when gently she urged her to sleep, she would wipe 
her eyes so patiently and turn ner head with such 
obedient sweetness, that her mother’s heart utterly 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 

failed her. For hours Mary sat in her room with 
James’s last letter spread out before her. How 
anxiously had she studied every word and phrase 
in it, weighing them to see if the hope of eternal 
life were in them! How she dwelt on those last 
promises ! Had he kept them ? Ah ! to die with* 
out one word more! Would no angel tell her?— 
would not the loving God, who knew all, just 
whisper one word ? He must have read the little 
Bible! What had he thought? What did he fee 
in that awful hour when he felt himself drifting on 
to that fearful eternity ? Perhaps he had been regen- 
erated, — perhaps there had been a sudden change 
— who knows? — she had read of such things; — 

verhaps Ah, in that perhaps lies a world of 

anguish ! Love will not hear of it. Love dies for 
certainty. Against an uncertainty who can brace 
the soul? We put all our forces of faith and 
prayer against it, and it goes down just as a buoy 
sinks in the water, and the next moment it is up 
again. The soul fatigues itself with efforts which 
come and go in waves ; and when with laborious 
care she has adjusted all things in the light of 
hope, back flows the tide, and sweeps all away 
In such struggles life spends itself fast; an inward 
wound does not carry one deathward more surely 
than this worst wound of the soul. God has 
made us so mercifully that there is no certainty 
however dreadful, to which life-forces do not in 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


353 


time adjust themselves, — but to uncertainty there 
is no possible adjustment. Where is he ? Oh, 
question of questions! — question which we sup- 
press, but which a power of infinite force still 
urges on the soul, who feels a part of herself torn 
away. 

Mary sat at her window in evening hours, and 
watched the slanting sunbeams through the green 
blades of grass, and thought one year ago he 
stood there, with his well-knit, manly form, his 
bright eye, his buoyant hope, his victorious mas- 
tery of life! And where was he now? Was his 
heart as sick, longing for her, as hers for him ? 
Was he looking back to earth and its joys with 
pangs of unutterable regret ? or had a divine 
power interpenetrated his soul, and lighted there 
the flame of a celestial love which bore him far 
above earth ? If he were among the lost, in what 
age of eternity could she ever be blessed? Could 
Christ be happy, if those who were one with Him 
were sinful and accursed? and could Christ’s own 
loved ones be happy, when those with whom chey 
have exchanged being, in whom they live and feel, 
are as wandering stars, for whom is reserved the 
mist of darkness forever ? She had been taughl 
that the agonies of the lost would be forever in 
sight of the saints, without abating in the least 
their eternal joys; nay, that they would find in it 
increasing motives to praise and adoration Could 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


354 

it be so? Would the last act of the great Bride- 
groom of the Church be to strike from the hear! 
of his purified Bride those yearnings of self-devot- 
ing love which His whole example had taught her, 
and in which she reflected, as in a glass, His own 
nature? If not, is there not some provision by 
which those roots of deathless love which Christ’s 
betrothed ones strike into other hearts shall have 
a divine, redeeming power ? Question vital as 
life-blood to ten thousand hearts, — fathers, moth- 
ers, wives, husbands, — to all who feel the infinite 
sacredness of love ! 

After the first interview with Mrs. Marvyn, the 
subject which had so agitated them was not re- 
newed. She had risen at last from her sick-bed, 
as thin and shadowy as a faded moon after sun* 
rise. Candace often shook her head mournfully, as 
her eyes followed her about her daily tasks. Once 
only, with Mary, she alluded to the conversation 
which had passed between them; — it was one day 
when they were together, spinning, in the north 
upper room that looked out upon the sea. It was 
a glorious day. A ship was coming in under full 
sail, with white gleaming wings. Mrs. Marvyn 
watched it a few moments, — the gay creature, so 
full of exultant life, — and then smothered down 
an inward groan, and Mary thought she heard her 
saying, “ Thy will be done ! ” 

u Mary/' she said, gently, “ I hope you will for 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


355 


get all I said to you that dreadful day. It had to 
be said, or I should have died. Mar} , I begin to 
think that it is not best to stretch our minds with 
reasonings where we are so limited, where we can 
know so little. I am quite sure there must be 
dreadful mistakes somewdiere. 

u It seems to me irreverent and shocking that a 
child should oppose a father, or a creature its Cre- 
ator. I never should have done it, only that, where 
direct questions are presented to the judgment, one 
cannot help judging. If one is required to praise 
a being as just and good, one must judge of his 
actions by some standard of right, — and we have 
no standard but such as our Creator has placed in 
us. I have been told it was my duty to attend to 
these subjects, and I have tried to, — and the re- 
sult has been that the facts presented seem wholly 
irreconcilable with any notions of justice or mercy 
that I am able to form. If these be the facts, I 
can only say that my nature is made entirely op- 
posed to them. If I followed the standard of right 
they present, and acted according to my small 
mortal powers on the same principles, I should be 
a very bad person. Any father, who should make 
such use of power over his children as they say 
the Deity does with regard to us, would be looked 
upon as a monster by our very imperfect moral 
*ense. Yet I cannot say that the facts are not so. 
When I heard the Doctor’s sermons on ‘ Sin a 


356 


THE MINISTER’S WOOlNu. 


Necessary Means of the Greatest Good/ 1 could 
not extricate myself from the reasoning. 

“ I have thought, in desperate moments, of giv- 
ing up the Bible itself. But what do I gain ? Do 
I not see the same difficulty in Nature? I see 
everywhere a Being whose main ends seem to be 
beneficent, but whose good purposes are worked 
out at terrible expense of suffering, and apparentJy 
by the total sacrifice of myriads of sensitive crea- 
tures. I see unflinching order, general good-will, 
but no sympathy, no mercy. Storms, earthquakes, 
volcanoes, sickness, death, go on without regarding 
us. Everywhere I see the most hopeless, unre- 
lieved suffering, — and for aught I see, it may be 
eternal. Immortality is a dreadful chance, and 1 
would rather never have been.-— The Doctor’s 
dreadful system is, I confess, much like the laws 
of Nature, — about what one might reason out 
from them. 

“ There is but just one thing remaining, and 
that is, as Candace said, the cross of Christ. If 
God so loved us, — if He died for us, — greater 
love hath no man than this. It seems to me 
that love is shown here in the two highest 
orms possible to our comprehension. We see 
a Being who gives himself for us, — and more 
than that, harder than that, a Being who con- 
sents to the suffering of a dearer than self. 
Mary, I feel that I must love more, to give up 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


357 


one of m)' children to suffer, than to consent to 
suffer myself. There is a world of comfort to me 
in the words, 1 He that spared not his own Son, 
but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not 
with him also freely give us all things?’ These 
words speak to my heart. I can interpret them 
by my own nature, and I rest on them. If there 
is a fathomless mystery of sin and sorrow, there 
is a deeper mystery of God’s love. So, Mary, I 
by Candace’s way, — I look at Christ, — I pray to 
Him. If he that hath seen Him hath seen the 
Father, it is enough. I rest there, — I wait. What 
I know not now I shall know hereafter.” 

Mary kept all things and pondered them in her 
heart. She could speak to no one, — not to her 
mother, nor to her spiritual guide ; for had she 
not passed to a region beyond theirs ? As well 
might those on the hither side of mortality instruct 
the souls gone beyond the veil as souls outside a 
great affliction guide those who are struggling in 
it. That is a mighty baptism, and only Christ can 
go down with us into those waters. 

Mrs. Scudder and the Doctor only marked that 
she was more than ever conscientious in every 
duty, and that she brought to life’s daily realities 
something of the calmness and disengagedness of 
one whose soul has been wrenched by a mighty 
shock from all moorings here below. Hopes did 
not excite, fears did not alarm her ; life had no 


358 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


force strong enough to awaken a thrill within} 
and the only subjects on which she ever spoke 
with any degree of ardor were religious subjects. 

One who should have seen moving about the 
daily ministrations of the cottage a pale girl, 
whose steps were firm, whose eye was calm, 
whose hands were ever busy, would scarce imag- 
ine that through that silent heart were passing 
tides of thought that measured a universe; but it 
was even so. Through that one gap of sorrow 
tiowed in the whole awful mystery of existence, 
and silently, as she spun and sewed, she thought 
over and over again all that she had ever been 
taught, and compared and revolved it by the light 
of a dawning inward revelation. 

Sorrow is the great birth-agony of immortal 
Dowers, — sorrow is the great searcher and revealer 
of hearts, the great test of truth ; for Plato has 
wisely said, sorrow will not endure sophisms, — all 
shams and unrealities melt in the fire of that 
awful furnace. Sorrow reveals forces in our- 
selves we never dreamed of. The soul, a bound 
and sleeping prisoner, hears her knock on her cell- 
door, and wakens. Oh, how narrow the walls 
oh, how close and dark the grated window! how 
the long useless wings beat against the impassable 
barriers! Where are we? What is this prison 9 
What is beyond ? Oh for more air, more light 
When wifi the door be opened ? The soul seems 


THE MINISTER’S WOUNG. 


.359 


to itself to widen and deepen; it trembles at its 
Dwn dreadful forces ; it gathers up in waves that 
break with wailing only to flow back into the 
everlasting void. The calmest and most centred 
natures are sometimes thrown by the shock of a 
great sorrow into a tumultuous amazement. All 
things are changed. The earth no longer s-eems 
solid, the skies no longer secure ; a deep abyss 
seems underlying every joyous scene of life. The 
soul, struck with this awful inspiration, is a mourn- 
ful Cassandra; she sees blood on every threshold, 
and shudders in the midst of mirth and festival 
with the weight of a terrible wisdom. 

Who shall dare be glad any more, that has 
once seen the frail foundations on which love and 
joy are built ? Our brighter hours, have they 
only been weaving a network of agonizing remem- 
brances for this day of bereavement? The heart 
is pierced with every past joy, with every hope of 
its ignorant prosperity. Behind every scale in 
music, the gayest and cheeriest, the grandest, the 
most triumphant, lies its dark relative minor ; the 
notes are the same, but the change of a semitone 
changes all to gloom ; — all our gayest hours are 
tunes that have a modulation into these dreary 
ke}s ever possible; at any moment the key-note 
may be struck. 

The firmest, best-prepared natures are often be- 
tide themselves with astonishment and dismay. 


360 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


when they are called to this dread initiation 
They thought it a very happy world before, — a 
glorious universe. Now it is darkened with the 
shadow of insoluble mysteries. Why this everlast- 
ing tramp of inevitable laws on quivering life? 
If the wheels must roll, why must the crushed be 
so living and sensitive? 

And yet sorrow is godlike, sorrow is grand and 
great, sorrow is wise and far-seeing. Our own 
instinctive valuations, the intense sympathy which 
we give to the tragedy which God has inwoven 
into the laws of Nature, show us that it is with 
no slavish dread, no cowardly shrinking, that we 
should approach her divine mysteries. What aie 
the natures that cannot suffer ? Who values them ? 
From the fat oyster, over which the silver tide 
rises and falls without one pulse upon its fleshy 
ear, to the hero who stands with quivering nerve 
parting with wife and child and home for country 
and God, all the way up is an ascending scale, 
marked by increasing power to suffer; and when 
we look to the Head of all being, up through 
principalities and powers and princedoms, with 
dazzling orders and celestial blazonry, to behold 
oy what emblem the Infinite Sovereign chooses 
to reveal himself, we behold, in the midst of the 
throne, “ a lamb as it had been slain.” 

Sorrow is divine. Sorrow is reigning on the 
throne of the universe, and the crown of all 


THE MJNISTER’S VVoOlNu 


361 


crowns has been one of thorns. There have been 
many books that treat of the mystery of sorrow, 
but only one that bids us glory in tribulation, and 
count it all joy when we fall into divers afflic- 
tions, that so we may be associated with that 
great fellowship of suffering of which the Incar 
nate God is the head, and through which He is 
carrying a redemptive conflict to a glorious vic- 
tory over evil. If we suffer with Him, we shall 
also reign with Him. 

Even in the very making up of our physical 
nature, God puts suggestions of such a result. 
u Weeping may endure for a night, but joy com- 
eth in the morning.” There are victorious powers 
in our nature which are all the while working for 
us in our deepest pain. It is said, that, after the 
sufferings of the rack, there ensues a period in 
which the simple repose from torture produces a 
beatific trance; it is the reaction of Nature, as- 
serting the benignant intentions of her Creator. 
So, after great mental conflicts and agonies must 
come a reaction, and the Divine Spirit, co-working 
with our spirit, seizes the favorable moment, and, 
interpenetrating natural laws with a celestial vital- 
ty, carries up the soul to joys beyond the ordi- 
nary possibilities of mortality. 

It is said that gardeners, sometimes, when they 
would bring a rose to richer flowering, deprive it 
for a season, of light and moisture. Silent and 
16 


362 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINu. 


dark it stands, dropping one fading leaf after an- 
other, and seeming to go down patiently to death. 
But when every leaf is dropped, and the plant 
stands stripped to the uttermost, a new life is 
even then working in the buds, from which shall 
spring a tender foliage and a brighter wealth of 
flowers. So, often in celestial gardening, every 
leaf of earthly joy must drop, before a new and 
divine bloom visits the soul. 

Gradually, as months passed away the floods 
grew still ; the mighty rushes of the inner tides 
ceased to dash. There came first a delicious 
calmness, and then a celestial inner clearness, in 
which the soul seemed to lie quiet as an untrou- 
bled ocean, reflecting heaven. Then came the ful- 
ness of mysterious communion given to the pure 
in heart, — that advent of the Comforter \n the 
soul, teaching all things and bringing all things 
to remembrance ; and Mary moved in a world 
transfigured by a celestial radiance. Her free, so 
long mournfully calm, like some chiselled statue 
of Patience, now wore a radiance, as when one 
places a light behind some alabaster screen sculp- 
tured with mysterious and holy emblems, and 
words of strange sweetness broke from her, as if 
one should hear snatches of music from a aooi 
suddenly opened in heaven. Something wise and 
strong and sacred gave an involuntary impressior 
of awe in her looks and words ; — it was not the 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


363 


thildlike loveliness of early days, looking with 
dovelike, ignorant eyes on sin and sorrow ; but 
the victorious sweetness of that great multitude 
who have come out of great tribulation, having 
washed their robes and made them white in the 
blood of the Lamb. In her eyes there was that 
nameless depth that one sees with awe in the 
Sistine Madonna, — eyes that have measured infi- 
nite sorrow and looked through it to an infinite 
peace. 

“ My dear Madam,” said the Doctor to Mrs, 
Scudder, u I cannot but think that there must be 
some uncommonly gracious exercises passing in 
the mind of your daughter ; for I observe, that, 
though she is not inclined to conversation, she 
seems to be much in prayer ; and I have, of late, 
felt the sense of a Divine Presence with her in a 
most unusual degree. Has she opened her mind 
to you ? ” 

u Mary was always a silent girl,” said Mrs. 
Scudder, “ and not given to speaking of her own 
feelings ; indeed, until she gave you an account of 
her spiritual state, on joining the church, I never 
knew what her exercises were. Hers is a most sin- 
gular case. I never knew the time when she did 
not; seem to love God more than anything else. It 
has disturbed me sometimes, — because I did not 
know but it might be mere natural pens! bility . in 
stead of gracious affection” 


$64 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ Do not disturb yourself, Madam,” sa.d the 
Doctor. “ The Spirit worketh when, where, and 
how He will ; and, undoubtedly, there have been 
cases where His operations commence exceedingly 
early. Mr. Edwards relates a case of a young 
person who experienced a marked conversion when 
three years of age ; and Jeremiah was called from 
the womb. (Jeremiah, i. 5.) In all cases we must 
test the quality of the evidence without relation 
to the time of its commencement. I do not gen- 
erally lay much stress on our impressions, which 
are often uncertain and delusive ; yet I have had 
an impression that the Lord would be pleased to 
make some singular manifestations of His grace 
through this young person. In the economy of 
grace there is neither male nor female ; and Peter 
says (Acts, ii. 17) that the Spirit of the Lord 
shall be poured out and your sons and your 
daughters shall prophesy. Yet if we consider that 
the Son of God, as to his human nature, was 
made of a woman, it leads us to see that in mat- 
ters of grace God sets a special value on woman’s 
nature and designs to put special honor upon it. 
Accordingly, there have been in the Church, in all 
ages, holy women who have received the Spirit 
and been called to a ministration in the things of 
God, — such as Deborah, Huldah, and Anna, the 
prophetess. In our own days, most uncommon 
manifestations of divine grace have been given to 






THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


865 


holy women. It was my privilege to be in the 
family of Piesident Edwards at a time when 
Northampton was specially visited, and his wife 
seemed and spoke more like a glorified spirit than 
a mortal woman, — and multitudes flocked to the 
house to hear her wonderful words. She seemed 
to have such a sense of the Divine love as was 
almost beyond the powers of nature to endure. 
Just to speak the words, 4 Our Father who art in 
heaven,’ would overcome her with such a mani- 
festation that she would become cold and almost 
faint ; and though she uttered much, yet she told 
us that the divinest things she saw could not be 
spoken. These things could not be fanaticism, for 
she was a person of a singular evenness of na- 
ture, and of great skill and discretion in temporal 
matters, and of an exceeding humility, sweetness, 
and quietness of disposition.” 

“ I have observed of late,” said Mrs. Scudder 
“that, in our praying circles, Mary seemed much 
carried out of herself, and often as if she would 
Bpeak, and with difficulty holding herself back. I 
have not urged her, because I thought it best to 
wait till she should feel full liberty.” 

« Therein you do rightly, Madam,” said the 
Doctor ; 44 but I am persuaded you will hear from 
her yet.” 

It came at length, the houi of utterance. And 
wie day, in a praying circle of the wcmen of 


366 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


the church, all were startled by the clear silver 
tones of one who sat among them and spoke with 
the unconscious simplicity of an angel child, call- 
ing God her Father, and speaking of an ineffable 
union in Christ, binding all things together in one, 
and making all complete in Him. She spoke of a 
love passing knowledge, — passing all love of lov- 
ers or of mothers, — a love forever spending, yet 
never spent, — a love ever pierced and bleeding, 
yet ever constant and triumphant, rejoicing with 
infinite joy to bear in its own body the sins and 
sorrows of a universe, — conquering, victorious love, 
rejoicing to endure, panting to give, and offering 
its whole self with an infinite joyfulness for our 
salvation. And when, kneeling, she poured out 
her soul in prayer, her words seemed so many 
winged angels, musical with unearthly harpings 
of an untold blessedness. They who heard her had 
the sensation of rising in the air, of feeling a ce- 
lestial light and warmth descending into their 
souls ; and when, rising, she stood silent and with 
downcast drooping eyelids, there were tears in all 
eyes, and a hush in all movements as she passed, 
as if something celestial were passing out. 

Miss Prissy came rushing homeward, to hold a 
private congratulatory talk with the Doctor and 
Mrs. Scudder, while Mary was tranquilly setting 
the tea-table and cutting bread for supper. 

“To see her now, certainly,” said Miss Prissy, 


THE MINISTER’S 'VOOINC. 


36 7 


“ moving round so thoughtful, not forgetting any- 
thing, and doing everything so calm, you wouldn’t 
’a’ thought it could be her that spoke those blessed 
words and made that prayer !• Well, certainly 
that prayer seemed to take us all right up and 
put us down in heaven ! and when I opened my 
eyes, and saw the roses and asparagus-bushes on 
the manteltree-pieoe, I had to ask myself, ‘ Where 
have I been ? ’ Oh, Miss Scudder, her afflictions 
have been sanctified to her! — and really, when I 
see her going on so, I feel she can’t be long for 
us. They say, dying grace is for dying hours , 
and I’m sure this seems more like dying grace 
than anything that I ever yet saw.” 

“ She is a precious gift,” said the Doctor ; “ let 
us thank the Lord for his grace through her. She 
has evidently had a manifestation of the Beloved, 
and feedeth among the lilies ( Canticles, vi. 3) ; 
and we will not question the Lord’s further dis 
pensations concerning her.” 

“ Certainly,” said Miss Prissy, briskly, “ it’s never 
Dest to borrow trouble; ‘sufficient unto the day’ is 
enough, to be sure. — And now, Miss Scudder, I 
thought I’d just take a look at that dove-colored 
silk of yours to-night, to see what would have to 
be done with it, because I must make every min- 
ute tell; and you know I lose half a day every 
week for the prayer-meeting. Though I ought nol 
to say I lose it, either; for I was tilling Miss 


568 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


General Wilcox I wouldn’t give up that meeting 
for bags and bags of gold. She wanted me to 
come and sew for her one Wednesday, and says 
I, ‘ Miss Wilcoxf I’m poor and have to live by 
my work, but I a’n’t so poor but what I have 
some comforts, and I can’t give up my prayer- 
meeting for any money, — for vou see, if one gets 
a little lift there, it makes all the work go lighter, 
— but then I have to be particular to save up 
every scrap and end of time.” 

Mrs. Scudder and Miss Prissy crossed the kitchen 
and entered the bedroom, and soon had the dove- 
colored silk under consideration. 

“ Well, Miss Scudder,” said Miss Prissy, after 
mature investigation, “ here’s a broad hem, not cut 
at all on the edge, as I see, and that might be 
turned down, and so cut off the worn spot up by 
the waist, — and then, if it is turned, it will look 
every bit and grain as well as a new silk; — I’ll 
sit right down now and go to ripping. I put my 
ripping-knife into my pocket when I put on this 
dress to go to prayer-meeting, because, says I to 
myself, there’ll be something to do at Miss Scud- 
der’s to-night, You just get an iron to the fire 
and we’ll haye it all ripped and pressed out before 
\lark.” 

Miss Prissy seated herself at the open window 
as cheery as a fresh apple-blossom, and began 
busily plying her knife, looking at *he g?-ment she 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


369 

was ripping with an astute air, as if she were 
about to circumvent it into being a new dress by 
some surprising act of legerdemain. Mrs. Scudder 
walked to the looking-glass and began changing 
her bonnet cap for a tea-table one. 

Miss Prissy, after a while, commenced in a 
mysterious tone. 

“ Miss Scudder, I know folks like me shouldn’t 
hate their eyes open too wide, but then I can’t 
help noticing some things. Did you see the Doc- 
tor’s face when we was talking to him about 
Mary ? Why, he colored all up and the tears 
came into his eyes. It’s my belief that that blessed 
man worships the ground she treads on. I don’t 
mean worships , either, — ’cause that would be 
wicked, and he’s too good a man to make a 
graven image of anything, — but it’s clear to see 
that there a’n’t anybody in the world like Mary to 
him. I always did think so ; but I used to think 
Mary was such a little poppet — that she’d do 

better for Well, you know, I thought about 

some younger man; — but, laws, now I see how 
she rises up to be ahead of every body, and is so 
kind of solemn-like. I can’t but see the leadings 
of Providence. What a minister’s wife she’d be, 
Miss Scudder! — why, all the ladies coming out of 
prayer-meeting were speaking of it. You see, they 
Want the Doctor to geV married; — it seems more 
nomfortable-like to have ministers married; one 


370 


THE MINIS tF-K’S WOOING. 


feels more free to open their exercises of mind 
and as Miss Deacon 'Twitchel said to me , — 4 II 
the Lord had made a woman o’ purpose, as h « 
did for Adam, he wouldn’t have made her a bit 
different from Mary Scudder.’ Why, the oldest of 
us would follow her lead, — ’cause she goes before 
us without knowing it.” 

“ I feel that the Lord has greatl) blessed me in 
such a child,” said Mrs. Scudder, “and I feel dis- 
posed to wait the leadings of Providence.” 

“ Just exactly,” said Miss Prissy, giving a shake 
to her silk ; “ and as Miss Twitchel said, in this 
case every providence seems to p’int. I felt dread- 
fully for her along six months back ; but now I 
see how she’s been brought out, I begin to see 
that things are for the best, perhaps, after all I 
can’t help feeling that Jim Marvyn is gone to 
heaven, poor fellow ! His father is a deacon, — 
and such a good man ! — and Jim, though he did 
make a great laugh wherever he went, and some- 
times laughed where he hadn’t ought to, was a 
noble-hearted fellow. Now, to be sure, as the 
Doctor says, 1 amiable instincts a’n’t true holi- 
ness ’ ; but then they are better than unamiable 
ones, like Simeon Brown’s. I do think, if that 
man is a Christian, he is a dreadful ugly one, he 
snapped me short up about my change, when he 
settled with me last Tuesday; and if I hadn’t ielt 
that it was a sinful rising, I should have to ! d him 


THE MINTS lEK’S WOOING. 


371 


I’d nevei put foot in his house again; I’m glad, 
for my part, he’s gone out of our chuieh. Now 
Jim Marvyn was like a prince to poor people ; 
and I remember once his mother told him to set- 
tle with me, and he gave me ’most double, and 
wouldn’t lei me make change. 1 Confound it all, 
Miss Prissy,’ say!? he, 4 1 wouldn’t stitch as you 
do from morning to night for double that money.’ 
Now I know we can’t do anything to recommend 
ourselves to the Lord, but then I can’t help feel 
ing some sorts of folks must be by nature more 
pleasing to Him than others. David was a man 
after God’s own heart,, and he was a generous, 
whole-souled fellow, like Jim Marvyn, though he 
did get carried away by his spirits sometimes and 
do wrong things; and so I hope the Lord saw fit 
to make Jim one of the elect. We don’t ever 
know what God’s grace has done for folks. 1 
think a great many are converted when we know 
nothing about it, as Miss Twitchel told poor old 
Miss Tyrel, who was mourning about her son, a 
dreadful wild boy, who was killed falling from mast- 
lead ; she says, that from the mast-head to the deck 
was time enough for divine grace to do the work.” 

44 I have always had a trembling hope for poor 
James,” said Mrs. Scudder, — 44 not on account of 
any of his good deeds or amiable traits, because 
election is without foresight of any good works, — 
but I felt he was a child of the covenant, ai 


372 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


least by the father’s side, and I hope the Lord 
has heard his prayer. These are dark providences ; 
the world is full of them ; and all we can do is 
to have faith that the Lord will bring infinite 
good out of finite evil, and make everything bet- 
ter than if the evil had not happened. That’s 
what our good Doctor is always repeating ; and 
we must try to rejoice, in view of the happiness 
of the universe, without considering whether we or 
our friends are to be included in it or not.” 

“Well, dear me!” said Miss Prissy, “I hope, 
if that is necessary, it will please the Lord to 
give it to me ; for I don’t seem to find any pow- 
ers in me to get up to it. But all’s for the best, 
at any rate, — and that’s a comfort.” 

Just at this moment Mary’s clear voice at the 
door announced that tea was on the table. 

“ Coming, this very minute,” said Miss Prissy, 
bustling up and pulling off her spectacles. Then, 
running across the room, she shut the door myste- 
riously, and turned to Mrs. Scudder with the air 
of an impending secret. Miss Prissy was subject 
to sudden impulses of confidence, in which she 
was so very cautious that not the thickest oak 
plank door seemed secure enough, and her voice 
dropped to its lowest key. The most important 
and critical words were entirely omitted, or sup- 
plied by a knowing wink and a slight stamp of 
the foot. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


375 


111 this mood she now approached Mrs. Scud- 
ier, and, holding up her hand on the door-side to 
prevent consequences, if, after all, she should be 
betrayed into a loud word, she said, “ I thought 
I’d just say, Miss Scudder, that, in case Mary 

should the Doctor, — in case, you know, 

there should be a in the house, you must 

just contrive it so as to give me a month’s notice, 
so that I could give you a whole fortnight to fix 

her up as such a good man’s ought to be. 

Now I know how spiritually-minded our blessed 
Doctor is ; but, bless you, Ma’am, he’s got eyes. 
I tell you, Miss Scudder, these men, the best of 
’em, feel what’s what, though they don’t know 
much. I saw the Doctor look at Mary that night 
I dressed her for the wedding-party. I tell you 
he’d like to have his wife look pretty well, and 
he’ll get up some blessed text or other about it, 
just as he did that night about being brought 
unto the king in raiment of needle-work. Thai 
is an encouraging thought to us sewing- women. 

“ But this thing was spoken of after the meet- 
ing. Miss Twitchel and Miss Jones were talking 
about it; and they all say that there would be 
the best setting-out got for her that was ever seen 
in Newport, if it should happen. Why, there’s 
reason in it. She ought to have at least two rea! 
good India silks that will stand alone, — and you’ll 
see she’ll have ’em loo; you let me alone for that J 


374 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


and 1 was thinking, as I lay awake last night, of 
a new way of making up, that you will say is 
just the sweetest that ever you did see. And 
Miss Jones was saying that she hoped there 
wouldn’t anything happen without her knowing it, 
because her husband’s sister in Philadelphia has 
sent her a new receipt for cake, and she has tried 
it and it came out beautifully, and she says she’ii 
send some in.” 

All the time that this stream was flowing, Mrs. 
Scudder stood with the properly reserved air of a 
discreet matron, who leaves all such matters to 
Providence, and is not supposed unduly to antici- 
pate the future ; and, in reply, she warmly pressed 
Miss Prissy’s hand, and remarked, ^that no one 
could tell what a day might bring forth, — and 
other general observations on the uncertainty of 
mortal prospects, which form a becoming shield 
when people do not wish to say more exactly what 
they are thinking of. 



THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


375 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A GUEST AT THE COTTAGE. 

Nothing is more striking, in the light and 
shadow of the human drama, than to compare the 
inner life and thoughts of elevated and silent na- 
tures with the thoughts and plans which those by 
whom they are surrounded have of and for them. 
Little thought Mary of any of the speculations 
that busied the friendly head of Miss Prissy, or 
that lay in the provident forecastings of her pru 
dent mother. When a life into which all our 
life-nerves have run is cut suddenly away, there 
follows, after the first long bleeding is stanched, an 
internal paralysis of certain portions of our nature 
It was so with Mary : the thousand fibres that 
bind youth and womanhood to earthly love and 
life were all in her as still as the grave, and only 
the spiritual and divine part of her being was 
active. Her hopes, desires, and aspirations were 
all such as she could have had in greater perfec- 
tion as a disembodied spirit than as a mortal 
woman. The small stake for self which she had 
invested in life was gone, — and henceforward all 
oersonal matters were to her so indifferent that she 


576 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


scarce was conscious of a v/ish in relation to hei 
own individual happiness. Through the sudden 
crush of a great affliction, she was in that state 
of self-abnegation to which the mystics brought 
themselves by fastings and self-imposed penances, 
•— a state not purely healthy, nor realizing the 
divine idea of a perfect human being made to 
exist in the relations of human life, — but one of 
those exceptional conditions, which, like the hours 
that often precede dissolution, seem to impart to 
the subject of them a peculiar aptitude for deli- 
cate and refined spiritual impressions. We could 
not afford to have it always night, — and we must 
think that the broad, gay morning-light, when mead- 
ow-lark and robin and bobolink are singing in 
chorus with a thousand insects and the waving 
of a thousand breezes, is on the whole the most 
in accordance with the average wants of those 
who have a material life to live and material 
work to do. But then we reverence that clear-ob- 
scure' of midnight, when everything is still and 
dewy ; — then sing the nightingales, which cannot 
be heard by day ; then shine the mysterious stars. 
So when all earthly voices are hushed in the soul, 
all earthly lights darkened, music and color float 
in from a higher sphere. 

No veiled nun, with her shrouded forehead and 
downcast eyes, ever moved about a convent with 
a spirit more utterly divided from the 'world than 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


87? 


Mary moved about her daily employments. Hei 
care about the details of life seemed more than 
ever minute ; she was always anticipating her 
mother in every direction, and striving by a thou- 
sand gentle preveniences to save her from fatigue 
and care ; there was even a tenderness about her 
ministrations, as if the daughter had changed feel 
ings and places with the mother. 

The Doctor, too, felt a change in her manner 
towards him, which, always considerate and kind, 
was now invested with a tender thoughtfulness 
and anxious solicitude to serve which often brought 
tears to his eyes. All the neighbors who had been 
in the habit of visiting at the house received from 
her, almost daily, in one little form or another, 
some proof of her thoughtful remembrance. 

She seemed in particular to attach herself to 
Mrs. Marvyn, — throwing her care around that 
fragile and wounded nature, as a generous vine 
will sometimes embrace with tender leaves and 
flowers a dying tree. 

But her heart seemed to have yearnings beyond 
even the circle of home and friends. She longed 
for the sorrowful and the afflicted, — she would go 
down to the forgotten and the oppressed, — and 
made herself the companion of the Doctor’s secret 
walks and explorings among the poo 1 - victims of 
the slave-ships, and entered with zeal as teacher 
among his African catechumens 


578 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Nothing but the limits of bodily strength could 
confine her zeal to do and suffer for others ; a 
rivei of love had suddenly been checked in her 
heart, and it needed all these channels to drain 
off the waters that must otherwise have drowned 
her in the suffocating agonies of repression. 

Sometimes, indeed, there would be a returning 
thrill of the old wound, — one of those overpow- 
ering moments when some turn in life brings 
back anew a great anguish. She would find un- 
expectedly in a book a mark that he had placed 
there, — or a turn in conversation would bring 
back a tone of his voice, — or she would see on 
fcome thoughtless young head curls just like those 
which v/ere swaying to and fro down among the 
wave'" mg seaweeds, — and then her heart gave one 
gr e? f throb of pain, and turned for relief to some 
im mediate act of love to some living being. They 
who saw her in one of these moments felt a surg- 
ing of her heart towards them, a moisture of the 
eye, a sense of some inexpressible yearning, and 
knew not from what pain that love was wrung, 
nor how that pror heart was seeking to still its 
own throbbingo In blessing them. 

By what name shall we call this beautiful twi- 
light, this night of the soul, so starry with heav* 
enly mysteries ? Not happiness, — but blessedness. 
They who have it walk among men “ as sorrow- 
ful, yst alway rejoicing, — as poor, yet making 


THE MINIS! ER’S WOOING. 


379 


many rich, — as having nothing, and yet possess- 
ing all things.” 

The Doctor, as we have seen, had always that 
reverential spirit towards women which accompa- 
nies a healthy and great nature; but in the con- 
stant converse which he now held with a beau- 
tiful being, from whom every particle of selfish 
feeling or mortal weakness seemed sublimed, he 
appeared to yield his soul up to her leading with 
a wonderful humility, as to some fair, miraculous 
messenger of Heaven. All questions of internal 
experience, all delicate shadings of the spiritual 
history with which his pastoral communings in 
his flock made him conversant, he brought to her 
to be resolved with the purest simplicity of trust 

“ She is one of the Lord’s rarities,” he said, one 
day to Mrs. Scudder, “ and I find it difficult to 
maintain the bounds of Christian faithfulness in 
talking with her. It is a charm of the Lord’s hid- 
den ones that they know not their own beauty , 
and God forbid that I should tempt a creature 
made so perfect by divine grace to self-exaltation, 
or lay my hand unadvisedly, as Uzzah did, upon 
the ark of God, by my inconsiderate praises!” 

“ Well, Doctor)’ said Miss Prissy, who sat in 
the corner, sewing on the dove-colored silk, u I do 
wish you could come into one of our meetings 
and hear those blessed prayers. I don’t think you 
nor anybody else ever heard anything like ’em.” 


380 


TIIE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ 1 would, indeed, that I might with propriety 
enjoy the privilege,” said the Doctor. 

u Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Miss Prissy 
K next week they’re going to meet here ; and I’ll 
leave the door just ajar, and you can hear every 
word, just by standing in the entry.” 

“ Thank you, Madam,” said the Doctor ; u it 
would certainly be a blessed privilege, but I can- 
not persuade myself that such an act would be 
consistent with Christian propriety.” 

“ Ah, now do hear that good man ! ” said Miss 
Prissy, after he had left the room ; “ if he ha’n’t 
got the making of a real gentleman in him, as 
well as a real Christian ! — though I always did 
say, for my part, that a real Christian will be .a 
gentleman. But I don’t believe all the tempta- 
tions in the world could stir that blessed man one 
jot or grain to do the least thing that he thinks 
is wrong or out of the way. Well, I must say, 
I never saw such a good man ; he is the only 
man I ever saw good enough for our Mary.” 

Another spring came round, and brought its 
roses, and the apple-trees blossomed for the third 
time since the commencement of our story ; and 
the robins had rebuilt their nest, and began to 
lay their blue eggs in it; and Mary still walked 
her calm course, as a sanctified priestess of the 
great worship of sorrow. Many were the hearts 
now dependent on her, the spiritual histories, th« 


I'HE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


381 


threads of which were held in her loving hand, — 
many the souls burdened with sins, or oppressed 
with sorrow, who found in her bosom at once 
confessional and sanctuary. So many sought her 
prayers, that her hours of intercession were full, 
ana often needed to be lengthened to embrace 
all for whom she would plead. United to the 
gcmd Doctor by a constant friendship and fel- 
lowship, she had gradually grown accustomed to 
the more and more intimate manner in which 
he regarded her, — which had risen from a simple 
u dear child,” nd “ dear Mary,” to “ dear friend,” 
and at last “ dearest of all friends,” which he fre- 
quently called her, encouraged by the calm, con- 
fiding sweetness of those still, blue eyes, and that 
gentle smile, which came without one varying 
flatter of the pulse or the rising of the slightest 
flush on the marble cheek. 

One day a letter was brought in, post-mark- 
ed “ Philadelphia.” It was from Madame de 
Frontignac; it was in French, and ran as fol- 
lows : — 

l 'Mr DEAR LITTLE WHITE ROSE : — 

u I am longing to see you once more, and be- 
fore long I shall be in Newport. Dear little Mary, 
l am sad, very sad ; — the days seem all of them 
x>o long ; and every morning I look out of my 
vindow and wonder why I was born. I am no! 


882 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


so happy as I used to be, when I cared for noth* 
ing but to sing and smooth my feathers like the 
birds. That is the best kind of life for us women 
— if we love anything better than our clothes, it 
is sure to bring us great sorrow. For all that, 1 
can’t help thinking it is very noble and beautiful 
to love ; — love is very beautiful, but very, very sad. 
My poor dear little white cat, I should like to hold 
you a little while to my heart; — it is so cold all 
the time, and aches so, I wish I were dead; but 
then I am not good enough to die. The Abbd 
says, we must offer up our sorrow to God as a 
satisfaction for our sins. I have a good deal to 
offer, because my nature is strong and I can feel 
a great deal. ^ 

“ But I am very selfish, dear little Mary, to think 
only of myself, when I know how you must suf- 
fer. Ah ! but you knew he loved you truly, the 
poor dear boy! — that is something. I pray daily 
for his soul ; don’t think it wrong of me ; you 
inow it is our religion; — we should all do out 
best for each other. 

“ Remember me tenderly to Mrs. Marvyn. Pool 
mother ! — the bleeding heart of the Mother of God 
alone can understand such sorrows. 

“ I am coming in a week or two, and then I 
have man}' things to say to ma belle rose blanche 
till then I kiss her little hands. 


Virginie r>E Fron noNA.a" 


THE MINISThU a Wuul.NG. 


383 


One beautiful afternoon, not long after, a car 
•lage stopped at the cottage, and Madame de 
Frontignac alighted. Mary was spinning in her 
garret-boudoir, and Mrs. Scudder was at that mo- 
ment at a little distance from the house, sprinkling 
some linen, which was laid out to bleach on the 
green turf of the clothes-yard. 

Madame de Frontignac sent away the carriage, 
and ran up the stairway, pursuing the sound of 
Mary’s spinning-wheel, mingled with her song ; and 
in a moment, throwing aside the curtain, she seized 
Mary in her arms, and kissed her on either cheek, 
laughing and crying both at once. 

“ I knew where I should find you, ma blanche ! 1 

heard the wheel of my poor little princess ! It’s 
a good while since we spun together, mimi ! Ah, 
Mary, darling, little do we know what we spin ! 
life is hard and bitter, is’n’t it? Ah, how white 
your cheeks are, poor child ! ” 

Madame de Frontignac spoke with tears in her 
own eyes, passing her hand caressingly over the 
fair cheeks. 

u And you have grown pale, too, dear Madame,’ 
i-aid Mary, looking up, and struck with the change 
in the once brilliant face. 

“Have I , petite ? I don’t know why not. We 
women have secret places where our life runs out, 
At home I wear rouge; that makes all right; — 
but I don’t put it on for you, Mary ; you see me 
just as I am" 


384 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Mary could not but notice the want of that 
brilliant color and roundness in the cheek, which 
once made so glowing .a picture ; the eyes seemed 
larger and tremulous with a pathetic depth, and 
around them those bluish circles that speak of lan- 
guor and pain. Still, changed as she was, Madame 
de Frontignac seemed only more strikingly interest- 
ing and fascinating than ever. Still she had those 
thousand pretty movements, those nameless graces 
of manner, those wavering shades of expression, 
that irresistibly enchained the eye and the imagi- 
nation, — true Frenchwoman as she was, always 
in one rainbow shimmer of fancy and feeling, like 
one of those cloud-spotted April days which give 
you flowers and rain, sun and shadow, and snatches 
of bird-singing, all at once. 

“ I have sent away my carriage, Mary, and come 
to stay with you. You want me, — n'est ce pas?” 
she said, coaxingly, with her arms round Mary’s 
neck ; “ if you don’t, tant pis ! for I am the bad 
penny you English speak of, — you cannot get me 
off.” 

“ I am sure, dear friend,” said Mary, earnestly, 
“we don’t want to put you off” 

“ I know it ; you are true ; you mean what you 
say; you are all good real gold, down to your 
hearts; that is why I love you. But you, my poor 
Mary, your cheeks are very white ; poor little heart> 
you suffer ! ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


835 


u No,” said Mary ; “ I do not suffer now. Christ 
has given me the victory over sorrow.” 

There was something sadly sublime in the man- 
ner in which this was said, — and something so 
sacred in the expression of Mary’s face that Ma- 
dame de Frontignac crossed herself, as she had 
been wont before a shrine; and then said, “Sweet 
Mary, pray for me ; I am not at peace ; I cannot 
get the victory over sorrow.” 

“What sorrow can you have?” said Mary, — 
C( you, so beautiful, so rich, so admired, whom every- 
body must love ? 

“ That is what I came to tell you ; I came to 
confess to you. But you must sit down there” 
she said, placing Mary on a low seat in the gar- 
ret-window ; “ and Yirginie will sit here,” she said, 
drawing a bundle of uncarded wool towards her, 
and sitting down at Mary’s feet. 

“Dear Madame,” said Mary, “let me get you a 
better seat.” 

“ No, no, mignonne , this is best ; I want to lay 
my head in your lap”; — and she took off her 
riding-hat with its streaming plume, and tossed it 
carelessly from her, and laid her head down on 
Mary’s lap. “ Now don’t call me Madame any 
more. Do you know,” she said, raising her head 
with a sudden brightening of cheek and eye, “ do 
you know that there are two mes to this person ? — 
*>ne is Virginie, and the other is Madame de Fron- 

17 


386 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


tignac Everybody in Philadelphia knows Madame 
de Erontlgnac ; — she is very gay, very careless 
very happy ; she never has any serious hours, oi 
any sad thoughts ; she wears powder and diamonds, 
and dances all night, and never prays ; — that is 
Madame. But Virginie is quite another thing. 
She is tired of all this, — tired of the balls, and 
the dancing, and the diamonds, and the beaux ; 
and she likes true people, and would like to live 
very quiet with somebody that she loved. She is 
very unhappy ; and she prays, too, sometimes, in 
a poor little way, — like the birds in your nest out 
there, who don’t know much, but chipper and cry 
because they are hungry. This is your Virginie. 
Madame never comes here, — never call me Ma- 
dame.” 

“ Dear Virginie,” said Mary, “ how I love 
you ! ” 

“ Do you Mary, — bien sur ? You are my good 
angel ! I felt a good impulse from you when I 
first saw you, and have always been stronger to 
do right when I got one of your pretty little let- 
ters. Oh, Mary, darling, I have been very foolish 
and very miserable, and sometimes tempted to be 
very, very bad ! Oh, sometimes I thought 1 would 
not care for God or anything else! — it was very 
bad of me, — but I was like a foolish little fly 
■faught in a spider’s net before he knows it.” 

Mary’s eyes questioned her companion with an 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


387 


expiession of eager sympathy, somewhat blended 
with curiosity. 

“ I can’t make you understand me quite,” said 
Madame de Frontignac, “unless I go back a good 
many years. You see, dear Mary, my dear angel 
mamma died when I was very little, and I was 
sent to be educated at the Sacr6 Coeur in Paris 
I was very happy and very good in those days ; 
the sisters loved me, and I loved them ; and I 
used to be so pious, and loved God dearly. When 
I took my first communion, Sister Agatha pre- 
pared me. She was a true saint, and is in heav- 
en now ; and I remember, when I came to her, 
all dressed like a bride, with my white crown and 
white veil, that she looked at me so sadly, and 
said she hoped I would never love anybody better 
than God, and then I should be happy. I didn’t 
think much of those words then ; but, oh, I have 
since, many times! They used to tell me always 
that I had a husband who was away in the army, 
and who would come to marry me when I was 
sev< nteen, and that he would give me all sorts of 
beautiful things, and show me everything I wanted 
to see in the world, and that I must love and 
honor him. 

“ Well, I was married at last ; and Monsieur 
ie Frontignac is a good oiave man, although he 
seemed to me very old and sober ; but he was al- 
ways kind to me, and gave me nobody knows 


•388 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


how many sets of jewelry, and let me do every- 
thing I wanted to, and so I liked him very much 
but I thought there was no danger I should love 
him, or anybody else, better than God. I didn’t 
love anybody in those days ; I only liked people, 
and some people more than others. All the men 
I saw professed to be lovers, and I liked to lead 
them about and see what foolish things I could 
make them do, because it pleased my vanity ; but 
I laughed at the very idea of love. 

“ Well, Mary, when we came to Philadelphia, 
I heard everybody speaking of Colonel Burr, and 
what a fascinating man he w T as ; and I thought it 
would be a pretty thing to have him in my train, 
— and so I did all I could to charm him. I tri.ed 
all my little arts, — and if it is a sin for us wom- 
en to do such things, I am sure I have been pun- 
ished for it. Mary, he was stronger than I was. 
These men, they are not satisfied with having the 
whole earth under their feet, and having all the 
strength and all the glory, but they must even 
take away our poor little reign ; — it’s too bad ! 

“ I can’t tell you how it was ; I didn’t know 
myself; but it seemed to me that he took my 
very life away from me ; and it was all done 
Before I knew it. He called himself my friend, 
nay brother ; he offered to teach me English ; he 
read with me ; and by-and-by he controlled my 
whole life I, that used to be so haughty, so 


TUK MINISTERS WOOING 


28 9 


projd, — I v that used to laugh to think how inde- 
pendent I was of everybody, — I was entirely 
under his control, though I tried not to show it. 
I didn’t well know where I was ; for he talked 
friendship, and I talked friendship ; he talked about 
sympathetic natures that are made for each other, 
and I thought how beautiful it all was ; it was 
living in a new world. Monsieur de Frontignac 
was as much charmed with him as I was ; he 
often told me that he was his best friend, — that 

he was his hero, his model man; and I thought, 

oh, Mary, you would wonder to hear me say what 
I thought! I thought he was a Bayard, a Sully, 
a Montmorenci, — everything grand and noble and 
good. I loved him with a religion ; I would have 
died for him ; I sometimes thought how I might 
lay down my life to save his, like women I read 
of in history. 1 did not know myself ; I was as- 
tonished I could feel so ; and I did not dream that 
this could be wrong. How could I, when it made 
me feel more religious than anything in my whole 
life ? Everything in the world seemed to grow sa- 
cred. I thought, if men could be so good and 
admirable, life was a holy thing, and not to be 
trifled with. 

“But our good Abb 6 is a faithful shepherd 
and when I told him these things in confession 
he told me I was in great danger, — danger of 
falling into mortal sin. Oh, Mary, it was as if 


590 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


the earth had opened under me ! He told me, 
too, that this noble man, this man so dear, was a 
heretic, and that, if he died, he would go to dread- 
ful pains. Oh, Mary, I dare not tell you half what 
he told me, — dreadful things that make me shiver 
when I think of them! And then he said that I 
must offer myself a sacrifice for him ; that, if I 
would put down all this love and overcome it, 
God would perhaps accept it as a satisfaction, and 
bring him into the True Church at last. 

“ Then I began to try. Oh, Mary, we never 
know how we love till we try to unlove ! It 
seemed like taking my heart out of my breast, 
and separating life from life. How can one do it? 
I wish any one would tell me. The Abb6 said I 
must do it by prayer; but it seemed to me prayer 
only made me think the more of him. 

“ But at last I had a great shock ; everything 
broke up like a great, grand, noble dream, — and 
I waked out of it just as weak and wretched as 
one feels when one has overslept. Oh, Mary, I 
found I was mistaken in him, — all, all, wholly!” 

Madame de Frontignac laid her forehead on 
Mary’s knee, and her long chestnut hair drooped 
down over her face. 

“He was going somewhere with my husband to 
explore, out in the regions of the Ohio, where he 
had some splendid schemes of founding a state 
*nd I was all interest. Anil one day, as they 


lilE MINISTER’S WOOING 391 

were preparing, Monsieur de Frontignac gave me 
a quantity of papers to read and arrange, and 
among them was a part of a letter ; — I never 
could imagine how it got there; it was from Burr 
to one of his confidential friends. I read it, at 
first, wondering what it meant, till I came to two 
or three sentences about me.” 

Madame de Frontignac paused a moment, and 
then said, rising with sudden energy, — 

u Mary, that man never loved me ; he cannot 
rove ; he does not know what love is. What I 
felt he cannot know ; he cannot even dream of it, 
because he never felt anything like it. Such men 
never know us women; we are as high as heaven 
above them. It is true enough that my heart was 
wholly in his power, — but why ? Because I 
adored him as something divine, incapable of dis- 
honor, incapable of selfishness, incapable of even 
a thought that was not perfectly noble and heroic. 
If he had been all that, I should have been proud 
to be even a poor little flower that should exhale 
away to give him an hour’s pleasure ; I would 
have offered my whole life to God as a sacrifice 
for such a glorious soul; — and all this time what 
was he thinking of me ? 

“ He was using' my feelings to carry his plans ; 
he was admiring me like a picture; he was con- 
sidering what he should do with me ; and but for 
his interests with my husband, he would have 


392 


THE MINISTER’S V001NG 


tried his power to make me sacrifice this world 
and the next to his pleasure. But he does not 
know me. My mother was a Montmorenci, and 
I have the blood of her house in my veins ; we 
are princesses; — we can give all; but he must be 
a god that we give it for.” 

Mary’s enchanted eye followed the beautiful nar- 
rator, as she enacted before her this poetry and 
tragedy of real life, so much beyond what dra- 
matic art can ever furnish. Her eyes grew splen- 
did in their depth and brilliancy; sometimes they 
were full of tears, and sometimes they Hashed out 
like lightnings ; her whole form seemed to be a 
plastic vehicle which translated every emotion of 
her soul; and Mary sat and looked at her with 
the intense absorption that one gives to the high- 
est and deepest in Art or Nature. 

“ Enftn , — que faire ! ” she said at last, suddenly 
stopping, and drooping in every limb. “ Mary, 1 
have lived on this dream so long! — never thought 
of anything else! — now all is gone, and what shall 
I do ? 

“ I think, Mary,” she added, pointing to the 
nest in the tree, “ I see my life in many things. 
My heart was once still and quiet, like the round 
little eggs that were in your nest ; — now it has 
broken out of its shell, and cries with cold and 
hunger. I want my dream again, -—I wish it aL 
hack, — or that my heart could go back intr h» 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


393 


shell. If I only could drop this year out of my 
life, and care for nothing, as I used to ! I have 
tried to do that ; I can’t ; I cannot get back where 
I was before.” 

“ Would you do it, dear Virginie?” said Mary; 
would you, if you could ? ” 

“ It was very noble and sweet, all that,” said 
Virginie ; “ it gave me higher thoughts than ever 
I had before ; I think my feelings were beautiful ; 

— but now they are like little birds that have no 
mother; they kill me with their crying.” 

“ Dear Virginie, there is a real Friend in heaven, 
who is all you can ask or think, — nobler, better 
purer, — who cannot change, and cannot die, and 
who loved you and gave himself for you.” 

“ You mean Jesus,” said Virginie. “ Ah, I know 
it; and I say the offices to him daily, but my 
heart is very wild and starts away from my words. 
I say, ; My God, I give myself to you ! ’ — and 
after all, I don’t give myself, and I don’t feel com- 
forted. Dear Mary, you must have suffered, too, 

— for you loved really, — I saw it * — when we feel 
a thing ourselves, we can see very quick the same 
in others; — and it was a dreadful blow to come 
so all at once.” 

« Yes, it was,” said Maiy; “I thought I must 
die ; but Christ has given me peace.” 

These words were spoken with that long-breathed 
■igh with which we always speak of peace,- a 


394 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


sigh that told of storms and sorrows past, — th« 
sighing of the wave that falls spent and broken on 
the shores of eternal rest. 

There was a little pause in the conversation 
and then Yirginie raised her head and spoke in a 
sprightlier tone. 

“ Well, my little fairy cat, my white doe, 1 have 
come to you. Poor Yirginie wants something to 
hold to her heart ; let me have you,” she said, 
throwing her arms round Mary. 

“Dear, dear Virginie, indeed you shall!” said 
Mary. “ I will love you dearly, and pray for you. 
I always have prayed for you, ever since the firs 
day I knew you.” 

u I knew it, — I felt your prayers in my heart. 
Mary, I have many thoughts that I dare not tell 
to any one, lately, — but I cannot help feeling that 
some are real Christians who are not in the True 
Church. You are as true a saint as Saint Catha- 
rine ; indeed, I always think of you when I think 
of our dear Lady ; and yet they say there is no 
salvation out of the Church.” 

This was a new view of the subject to Mary, 
who had grown up with the familiar idea that the 
Romish Church was Babylon and Antichrist, and 
who, during the conversation, had been revolving 
the same surmises with regard to her friend She 
turned her grave, blue eyes on Madame de Froii- 
fcignac with a somewhat surprised look, which 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


395 


melted into a half-smile. But the latter still went 
on with a puzzled air, as if trying to talk herself 
out of some mental perplexity. 

“Now, Burr is a heretic, — and more than that, 
he is an infidel; he has no religion in his heait, 

— I saw that often, — it made me tremble for him, 

— it ought to have put me on my guard. But 
you, dear Mary, you love Jesus as your life. I 
think you love him just as much as Sister Agatha, 
who was a saint. The Abbe says that there is 
nothing so dangerous as to begin to use our rea- 
son in religion, — that, if we once begin, we never 
know where it may carry us ; but I can’t help 
using mine a very little. I must think there are 
some saints that are not in the True Church.” 

“ All are one who love Christ,” said Mary ; “ we 
are one in Him.” 

“ I should not dare to tell the Abbe,” said 
Madame de Frontignac ; and Mary queried in her 
heart, whether Dr. Hopkins would feel satisfied that 
she could bring this wanderer to the fold of Christ 
without undertaking to batter down the walls of 
her creed ; and yet, there they were, the Catholic, 
and the Puritan, each strong in her respective faith, 
yet melting together in that embrace of love and 
sorrow, joined in the great communion of suffer- 
ing Mary took up her Testament and read thu 
fourteenth chapter of John : — 

“ Let not your heart be troubled ; ye believe in 


396 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house 
are man) mansions ; if it were not so, I would 
have told you. I go to prepare a place for you; 
and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will 
come again and receive you unto myself, that 
where I am, there ye may be also.” 

Mary read on through the chapter, — through 
the I ext wonderful prayer; her face grew solemnly 
transparent, as of an angel ; for her soul was lifted 
from earth by the words, and walked with Christ 
far above all things, over that starry pavement 
where each footstep is on a world. 

The greatest moral effects are like those of mu- 
sic, — not wrought out by sharp-sided intellectual 
propositions, but melted in by a divine fusion, hy 
words that have mysterious, indefinite fulness of 
meaning, made living by sweet voices, which seem 
to be the out-throbbings of angelic hearts. So one 
verse in the Bible read by a mother in some hour 
of tender prayer has a significance deeper and 
higher than the most elaborate of sermons, the 
most acute of arguments. 

Virginie Frontignac sat as one divinely en- 
chanted, while that sweet voice read on ; and 
when the silence fell between them, she gave a 
long sigh, as we do when sweet music stops. 
They heard between them the soft stir of summer 
leaves, the distant songs of birds, the breezy hum 
when the afternoon wind shivered through many 


TIIE MINISTER’S WOOING 


397 


branches, and the silver sea chimed in. Virginia 
rose at last, and kissed Mary on the fore- 
head. 

11 That is a beautiful book,” she said, “ and to 
read it all by one’s self must be lovely. I cannot 
understand why it should be dangerous; it has not 
injured you. 

“ Sweet saint,” she added, “ let me stay with 
you ; you shall read to me every day. Do you 
know I came here to get you to take me ? I 
want you to show me how to find peace where 
you do ; will you let me be your sister ? ” 

u Yes, indeed,” said Mary, with a cheek brighter 
than it had been for many a day; her heart feel- 
ing a throb of more real human pleasure than for 
long months. 

“ Will you get your mamma to let me stay ? ” 
said Virginie, with the bashfulness of a child ; 
“ haven’t you a little place like yours, with white 
curtains and sanded floor, to give to poor little 
Virginie to learn to be good in ? ” 

“ Why, do you really want to stay here with 
us,” said Mary, “ in this little house ? ” 

“ Do 1 really ? ” said Virginie, mimicking he) 
voice with a start of her old playfulness ; — “ don't 
I really ? Come now, mimi, coax the good mamma 
for me, — tell her I shall try to be very good. I 
shall help you with the spanning, — you know 1 
spin beautifully, — and I shah make butter, and 


398 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING, 


milk the cow, and set the table. Oh, [ will be so 
useful, you can’t spare me!” 

“ I should love to have you dearly,” said Mary 
warmly ; u but you would soon be dull for want 
of society here.” 

“ Quelle idee ! via petite dr ole ! ” said the lady, 
— who, with the mobility of her nation, had al- 
ready recovered some of the saucy mocking grace 
that was habitual to her, as she began teasing 
Mary with a thousand little childish motions. 
“ Indeed, mivii , you must keep me hid up here, or 
may be the wolf will find me and eat me up ; who 
knows ? ” 

Mary looked at her with inquiring eyes. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“I mean, Mary, — I mean, that, when he comes 
back to Philadelphia, he thinks he shall find me 
there ; he thought I should stay while my husband 
was gone ; and when he finds I am gone, he may 
come to Newport ; and I never want to see him 
again without you; — you must let me stay with 
you.” 

“ Have you told him,” said Mary, “ what you 
think ? ” 

“ I wrote to him, Mary, — but, oh, I can’t trust 
my heart! I want so much to believe him, it 
kills me so to think evil of him, that it will never 
do for me to see him. If he looks it me with 
those eyes of his, I am all gone; I shall belie\e 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


399 


anything he tells me ; he will draw me to him as 
a great magnet draws a poor little grain of steel.” 

“ But now you know his unworthiness, his base- 
ness,” said Mary, “ I should think it would break 
all his power.” 

“ Should you think so ? Ah, Mary, we cannot 
unlove in a minute; love is a great while dying. 
I do not worship him now as I did. I know 
what he is. I know he is bad, and I am sorry 
for it. I should like to cover it from all the 
world, — even from you, Mary, since I see it 
makes you dislike him ; it hurts me to hear any 
one else blame him. But sometimes I do so long 
to think I am mistaken, that I know, if I should 
see him, I should catch at anything he might tell 
me, as a drowning man at straws ; I should shut 
my eyes, and think, after all, that it was all my 
fault, and ask a thousand pardons for all the evil 
he has done. No, — Mary, you must keep your 
blue eyes upon me, or I shah be gone.” 

At this moment Mrs. Scudder’s voice was heard, 
calling Mary below. 

K Go down now, darling, and tell mamma ; make 
a good little talk to her, ma reinel Ah, you are 
queen here all do as you say, — even the good 
priest there ; you have a little hand, but it leads 
all; so go, petite.” 

Mrs. Scudder was somewhat flurried and dis* 
composed at the proposition; — there were the pro\ 


too 


THE MINISTER’S NVOOlNo. 


and the cons in her nature, such as we all have. 
In the first pla?e, Madame de Frontignac be 
longed to high society, — and that was pro ; for 
Mrs. Scudder prayed daily against worldly vani- 
ties, because she felt a little traitor in her heart 
that was ready to open its door to them, if not 
constantly talked down. In the second place, Ma- 
dame dt Frontignac was French, — there was a 
con; for Mrs. Scudder had enough of her father 
John Bull in her heart to have a very wary look- 
out on anything French. But then, in the third 
place, she was out of health and unhappy, — and 
there was a pro again ; for Mrs. Scudder was as 
kind and motherly a soul as ever breathed. But 
then she was a Catholic, — con . But the Doctor 
and Mary might convert her, — pro. And then 
Mary wanted her, — pro. And she was a pretty, 
bewitching, lovable creature, — pro . — The pros had 
it; and it was agreed that Madame de Fronti- 
gnac should be installed as proprietress of the 
spare chamber, and she sat down to the tea-table 
that evening in the great kitchen. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


40l 


CHAPTER XXVI 

THE DECLARATION. 

The domesticating of Madame de Frontignac 
as an inmate of the cottage added a new element 
^f vivacity to that still and unvaried life. One 
of the most beautiful traits of French nature is 
that fine gift of appreciation, which seizes at once 
the picturesque side of every condition of life, and 
finds in its own varied storehouse something to 
assort with it. As compared with the Anglo- 
Saxon, the French appear to be gifted with a 
naive childhood of nature, and to have the power 
that children have of gilding every scene of life 
with some of their own poetic fancies. 

Madame de Frontignac was in raptures with 
the sanded floor of her little room, which com- 
manded, through the apple-boughs, a little morsel 
of a sea view. She could fancy it was a nymph’s 
cave, she said. 

a Yes, ma Marie , I will play Calypso, and you 
shall play Telemachus, and' Dr. Hopkins shall be 
Mentor. Mentor was so very, very good! — only 


402 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


a bit — dull” she said, pronouncing the last word 
with a wicked accent, and lifting her hands with 
a whimsical gesture like a naught) child who ex- 
pects a correction. 

Mary could not but laugh ; and as she laughed, 
more color rose in her waxen cheeks than for 
many days before. 

Madame de Frontignac looked as triumphant 
as a child who has made its mother laugh, and 
went on laying things out of her trunk into her 
drawers with a zeal that was quite amusing to 
see. 

“ You see, ma blanche , I have left all Madame’s 
clothes at Philadelphia, and brought only those 
that belong to Virginie, — no tromperie , no feath- 
ers, no gauzes, no diamonds, — only white dresses, 
and my straw hat en bergere . I brought one string 
of pearls that was my mother’s; but pearls, you 
know, belong to the sea-nymphs. I will trim my 
hat with seaweed and buttercups together, and we 
will go out on the beach to-night and get some 
gold and silver shells to dress mon miroir .” 

“ Oh, I have ever so many now,” said Mary, 
running into her room, and coming back with a 
little bag. 

They both sat on the bed together, and begar 
pouring them out, — Madame de Frontignac show 
*ring childish exclamations of delight. 

Suddenly Mary put her hand to her heart as if 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


403 


stie had been struck with something ; and Ma- 
dame de Frontignac heard her say, in a low voice 
of sudden pain, “ Oh, dear ! ” 

“What is it, mimi?” she said, looking up 
quickly. 

“ Nothing,” said Mary, turning her head. 

Madame de Frontignac looked down, and saw 
among the sea-treasures a necklace of Venetian 
shells, that she knew never grew on the shores of 
Newport. She held it up. 

“ Ah, I see,” she said. “ He gave you this. 
Ah, wa pauvrette ,” she said, clasping Mary in her 
arms, “ thy sorrow meets thee everywhere ! May 
I be a comfort to thee! — just a little one!” 

“ Dear, dear friend ! ” said Mary, weeping. “ I 
know not how it is. Sometimes I think this sor- 
row is all gone ; but then, for a moment, it comes 
back again. But I am at peace ; it is all right, 
all right; I would not have it otherwise. But, oh, 
if he could have spoken one word to me before. 
He gave me this,” she added, “when he came 
home from his first voyage to the Mediterranean. 
I did not know it was in this bag. I had looked 
for it everywhere.” 

“ Sister Agatha would have told you to make 
a rosary of it,” said Madame de Frontignac; “but 
you pray without a rosary. It is all one,” she 
added ; “ there will be a prayer for every shell, 
though you do not count them. But come, mn 


404 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


p Acre, get your bonnet, and let us go out uii die 
beach.” 

That evening, befere going to bed, Mrs. Scud- 
der came into Mary’s room. Her manner was 
grave and tender ; her eyes had tears in them 
and although her usual habits were not caressing, 
she came to Mary and put her arms around hei 
and kissed her. It was an unusual manner, and 
Mary’s gentle eyes seemed to ask the reason 
of it. 

“ My daughter,” said her mother, “ I have just 
had a long and very interesting talk with our dear 
good friend, the Doctor; ah, Mary, very few peo- 
ple know how good he is!” 

“ True, mother,” said Mary, warmly ; “ he is the 
best, the noblest, and yet the humblest man in the 
world.” 

11 You love him very much, do you not ? ” said 
her mother. 

“ Very dearly,” said Mary. 

“ Mary, he has asked me, this evening, if you 
would be willing to be his wife.” 

M His wife , mother ? ” said Mary, in the tone ol 
one confused with a new and strange thought. 

w Yes, daughter ; I have long seen that he wa< 
preparing to make you this proposal.” 

“ You have, mother ? ” 

u Yes, daughter ; have you never thought of 

it?” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


405 


u Never, mother.” 

There was a long pai&e, — standing, just 

as she had been interrupted, m her night toilette, 
with her long, light hair streaming down over her 
white dress, and the comb held mechanically in 
her hand. She sat down after a moment, and, 
claspmg her hands over her knees, fixed her eyes 
intently on the floor ; and there fell between the 
two a silence so profound, that the tickings of 
the clock in the next room seemed to knock upon 
the door. Mrs. Scudder sat with anxious eyes 
watching that silent face, pale as sculptured mar- 
ble. 

“ Well, Mary,” she said at last. 

A deep sigh was the only answer. The violent 
throbbings of her heart could be seen undulating 
the long hair as the moaning sea tosses the rock- 
weed. 

“ My daughter,” again said Mrs. Scudder. 

Mary gave a great sigh, like that of a sleeper 
ex wakening from a dream, and, looking at her 
mother, said, - “ Do you suppose he really loves 
me, mother?” 

“ Indeed he does, Mary, as much as man ever 
loved woman ! ” 

“ Does he indeed ? ” said Mary, relapsing into 
thoughtfulness 

“ And you k>ve him, do you not ? ” said her 
mother. 


*06 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


Oh, yes, 1 love him.” 

“ You love him better than any man in the 
world, don’t you ? ” 

“ Oh, mother, mother ! yes ! ” said Mary, throw 
ing herself passionately forward, and bursting into 
sobs ; “ yes, there is no one else now that I love 
better, — no one! — no one!” 

* My darling ! my daughter ! ” said Mrs. Scud- 
der, coming and taking her in her arms. 

“ Oh, mother, mother!” she said, sobbing dis- 
tressfully, “ let me cry, just for a little, — oh, moth- 
er, mother, mother ! ” 

What was there hidden under that despairing 
wail ? — It was the parting of the last strand of 
the cord of youthful hope. 

Mrs. Scudder soothed and caressed her daughter, 
but maintained still in her breast a tender perti- 
nacity of purpose, such as mothers will, who think 
they are conducting a child through some natural 
sorrow into a happier state. 

Mary was not one, either, to yield long to emo- 
Uon of any kind. Her rigid education had taught 
her to look upon all such outbursts as a species 
of weakness, and she struggled for composure, and 
soon seemed entirely calm. 

“ If he really loves me, mother, it would give 
him great pain if I refused,” said Mary thought- 
fully. 

“ Certainly it would ; and, Mary, yon have al- 


THE MINISTER’S WCOlNG. 


407 


lowed him to act as a very near friend for a long 
time ; and it is quite natural that he should have 
hopes that you loved him.” 

“ I do love him, mother, — better than anybody 
in the world except you. Do you think that will 
do?” 

“ Will do ? ” said her mother ; “ I don’t under' 
stand you.” 

“ Why, is that loving enough to marry ? I shall 
love him more, perhaps, after, — shall I, mother?” 

“ Certainly you will ; every one does.” 

“ I wish he did not want to marry me, mother,” 
said Mary, after a pause. “ I liked it a great deal 
better as we were before.” 

“ All girls feel so, Mary, at first ; it is very 
natural.” 

“ Is that the way you felt about father, mother?” 

Mrs. Scudder’s heart smote her when she thought 
of her own early love, — that great love that asked 
no questions, — that had no doubts, no fears, no 
hesitations, — nothing but one great, outsweeping 
impulse, which swallowed her life in that of an- 
other. She was silent; and after a moment, she 
?aid, — 

“ I was of a different disposition from you, Mary. 

was of a strong, wilful, positive nature. I eithei 
liked or disliked with all my might. And be* 
sides. Mary, there never was a man like yoxu 
father.” 


408 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


The matron uttered this first article in the great 
confession of woman’s faith with the most uncon- 
scious simplicity. 

“ Well, mother, I will do whatever is my duty. 
I want to be guided. If I can make that good 
man happy, and help him to do some good in the 

ivorld After all, life is short, and the great 

thing is to do for others.” 

“ I am sure, Mary, if you could have heard how 
he spoke, you would be sure you could make him 
happy. He had not spoken before, because he felt 
so unworthy of such a blessing; he said I was to 
tell you that he should love and honor you all 
the same, whether you could be his wife or not, — 
but that nothing this side of heaven would be so 
blessed a gift, — that it would make up for every 
trial that could possibly come upon him. And 
you know, Mary, he has a great many discourage- 
ments and trials; — people don’t appreciate him; 
his efforts to do good are misunderstood and mis- 
construed ; they look down on him, and despise 
him, and tell all sorts of evil things about him ; 
and sometimes he gets quite discouraged.” 

“ Yes, mother, I will marry him,” said Mary ; — 
“ yes, I will.” 

“ My darling daughter!” said Mrs. Scudder, — 
w this has been the hope of my life ! ” 

“ Has it, mother ? ” said Mary, with a fain 
smile ; “ I shall make you happier then ? ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 409 

“ Yes, dear, you will. And think what a pros- 
pect of usefulness opens before you! You can 
take a position, as his wife, which will enable you 
to do even more good than you do now; and you 
will have the happiness of seeing, every day, how 
much you comfort the hearts and encourage the 
hands of God’s dear people.” 

“ Mother, I ought to be very glad I can do it,” 
said Mary ; “ and I trust I am. God orders all 
things for the best.” 

u Well, my child, sleep to-night, and to-monow 
We will talk more about it.” 


18 


•10 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

SURPRISES. 

Mrs. ScuDDtR kissed her daughter, and left her. 
a moment’s thought, Mary gathered the long 
silky folds of hair around her head, and knotted 
them for the night. Then leaning forward on her 
toilet-table, she folded her hands together, and 
stood regarding the reflection of herself in the 
mirror. 

Nothing is capable of more ghostly effect than 
such a silent, lonely contemplation of that myste- 
rious image of ourselves which seems to look out 
of an infinite depth in the mirror, as if it were 
our own soul beckoning to us visibly from un- 
known regions. Those eyes look into our own 
with an expression sometimes vaguely sad and 
.nquiring. The face wears weird and tremulous 
lights and shadows ; it asks us mysterious ques- 
tions, and troubles us with the suggestions of our 
relations to some dim unknown. The sud, blue 
eyes that gazed into Mary’s had that look of cairn 
initiation, of melancholy comprehension, peculiar 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


411 


to eyes made clairvoyant by “great and critical” 
sorrow. They seemed to say to her, “ Fulfil th) 
mission ; life is made for sacrifice ; the flower must 
fall before fruit can perfect itself.” A vague shud- 
dering of mystery gave intensity to her reverie 
It seemed as if those mirror-depths were another 
world ; she heard the far-off dashing of sea-green 
waves; she felt a yearning impulse towards that 
dear soul gone out into tne infinite unknown. 

Her word just passed had in her eyes all the 
sacred force of the most solemnly attested vow ; 
and she felt as if that vow had shut some till 
then open door between her and him ; she had a 
kind of shadowy sense of a throbbing and yearn 
ing nature that seemed to call on her, — thal 
seemed surging towards her with an imperative, 
protesting force that shook her heart to its depths. 

Perhaps it is so, that souls, once intimately re- 
lated, have ever after this a strange power of 
affecting each other, — a power that neither ab 
sence nor death can annul. How else can we 
interpret those mysterious hours in which the 
power of departed love seems to overshadow us, 
making our souls vital with such longii.gs, with 
such wild throbbings, with such unutterable sigh- 
mgs, that a little more might burst the mortal 
bond? Is it not deep calling unto deep? the free 
soul singing outside the cage to her mate beating 
against the bars within ? 


412 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Mary even, for a moment, fancied that a voice 
called her name, and started, shivering. Then the 
habits of her positive and sensible education re- 
turned at once, and she came out of her reverie 
as one breaks from a dream, and lifted all these 
sad thoughts with one heavy sigh from her breast 
and opening her Bible, she read : “ They that trust 
in the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, which can- 
not be removed, but abideth forever. As the 
mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord 
is round about his people from henceforth, even 
forever.” 

Then she kneeled by her bedside, and offered 
her whole life a sacrifice to the loving God who 
had offered his life a sacrifice for her. She prayed 
for grace to be true to her promise, — to be faith- 
ful to the new relation she had accepted. She 
prayed that all vain regrets for the past might be 
taken away, and that her soul might vibrate with- 
out discord in unison with the will of Eternal 
Love. So praying, she rose calm, and with that 
clearness of spirit which follows an act of utter- 
most self-sacrifice ; and so calmly she laid down 
and slept, with her two hands crossed upon her 
breast, her head slightly turned on the pillow, her 
cheek pale as marble, and her long dark lashes 
lying drooping, with a sweet expression, as if 
under that mystic veil of sleep the soul were see- 
ing things forbid der. to the waking eye. Only the 


THE MINISTEK’S 'WOOING. 


413 


gentlest heaving of the quiet breast told that the 
heavenly spirit within had not gone whither it was 
hourly aspiring to go. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Scudder had left Mary’s room, 
and entered the Doctor’s study, holding a candle 
in her hand. The good man was sitting alone in 
the dark, with his head bowed upon his Bible. 
When Mrs. Scudder entered, he rose, and regarded 
her wistfully, but did not speak. He had some- 
thing just then in his heart for which he had no 
words; so he only looked as a man does who 
hopes and fears for the answer of a decisive ques- 
tion. 

Mrs. Scudder felt some of the natural reserve 
which becomes a matron coming charged with a 
gift in which lies the whole sacredness of her own 
existence, and which she puts from her hands with 
a jealous reverence. She therefore measured the 
man with her woman’s and mother’s eye, and said 
with a little stateliness, — 

“ My dear Sir, I come to tell you the result of 
my conversation with Mary.” 

She made a little pause, — and the Doctor stood 
before her as humbly as if he had not weighed 
and measured the universe ; because he knew, 
that, though he might weigh the mountains in 
scales and the hills in a balance, yet it was a far 
sub tiler power which must possess him of one 
small woman’s heart. In fact, he felt to himseH 


414 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


like a great, awkward, clumsy mountainous earth* 
ite asking of a white-robed angel to help him up 
a ladder of cloud. He was perfectly sure, for the 
moment, that he was going to be refused ; and he 
looked humbly firm, — he would take it like a 
man. His large blue eyes, generally so misty in 
their calm, had a resolute clearness, rather mourn-, 
ful than otherwise. Of course, no such celestial 
experience was going to happen to him. 

He cleared his throat, and said, — 

“Well, Madam?” 

Mrs. Scudder’s womanly dignity was appeased; 
she reached out her hand, cheerfully, and said, — 

“ She has accepted .” 

The Doctor drew his hand suddenly away, 
turned quickly round, and walked to the window, 
— although, as it was ten o’clock at night and 
quite dark, there was evidently nothing to be seen 
there. He stood there, quietly, swallowing very 
hard, and raising his handkerchief several times to 
his eyes. There was enough going on under the 
black coat just then to make quite a little figure 
in a romance, if it had been uttered; but he be- 
longed to a class who lived romance, but never 
spoke it. In a few moments he returned to Mrs. 
Scudder, and said, — 

“ I trust, dear Madam, that this very dear friend 
may never have reason to think me ungrateful foi 
Her wonderful goodness and whatever sins mj 


THK MINISTER’S WOOING 


416 


evi] heart may lead me into, I hope I may nevei 
fall so low as to forget the undeserved mercy of 
this hour. If ever I shrink from duty or murmur 
at trials, while so sweet a friend is mine, I shall 
be vile indeed.” 

The Doctor, in general, viewed himself on the 
discouraging side, and had berated and snubbed 
himself all his life as a most flagitious and evil- 
disposed individual, — a person to be narrowly 
watched, and capable of breaking at any moment 
into the most flagrant iniquity ; and therefore it 
was that he received his good fortune in so differ- 
ent a spirit from many of the lords of creation in 
similar circumstances. 

w I am sensible,” he added, “ that a poor minis- 
ter, without much power of eloquence, and com- 
missioned of the Lord to speak unpopular truths, 
and whose worldly condition, in consequenr ,, is 
never likely to be very prosperous, — that such an 
one could scarcely be deemed a suitable partner 
for so very beautiful a young woman, who might 
expect proposals, in a temporal point of view, of a 
much more advantageous nature ; and I am there- 
fore the more struck and overpowered with this 
blessed result.” 

These last words caught in the Doctor’s throat, 
as if he were overpowered in very deed. 

“ In regard to her hapoiness,* said the Doctor 
with a touch of awe in his voice, ' x I would not 


416 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


have presumed to become the guardian of it, were 
Li not that I am persuaded it is assured by a 
Higher Power; for ‘when He giveth quietness, 
who then can make trouble?’ (Job, xxxiv. 29.) 
But I trust I may say no effort on my part shall 
be wanting to secure it.” 

Mrs. Scudder was a mother, and had come to 
that stage in life where mothers always feel tears 
rising behind their smiles. She pressed the Doc- 
tor’s hand silently, and they parted for the night. 

We know not how we can acquit ourselves to 
our friends of the great world for the details of 
such an unfashionable courtship, so well as by giv- 
ing them, before they retire for the night, a dip into 
a more modish view of things. 

The Doctor was evidently green, — green in his 
faith, green in his simplicity, green in his general 
belief of the divine in woman, green in his partic- 
ular humble faith in one small Puritan maiden, 
whom a knowing fellow might at least have ma- 
noeuvred so skilfully as to break up her saintly 
superiority, discompose her, rout her ideas, and 
lead her up and down a swamp of hopes and fears 
and conjectures, till she was wholly bewildered and 
ready to take him at last — if he made up his mind 
to have her at all — as a great bargain, for which 
she was to be sensibly grateful. 

\e», the Doctor was green , — immortally green 
is a cedar of Lebanon, which, waving its broad 


THF. MINISTER’S WOOING. 


417 


archangel wings over some fast-rooted, eternal old 
Bolitude, and seeing from its sublime height the 
vastness of the universe, veils its kingly head with 
humility before God’s infinite majesty. 

He has gone to bed now, — simple old soul! — 
first apologizing to Mrs. Sc udder for having kept 
her up to so dissipated and unparalleled an hour 
as ten o’clock on his personal matters. 

Meanwhile our Asmodeus shall transport us to 
a handsomely furnished apartment in one of the 
most fashionable hotels of Philadelphia, where 
Colonel Aaron Burr, just returned from his trip to 
the then aboriginal wilds of Ohio, is seated before 
a table covered with maps, letters, books, and pa- 
pers. Ilis keen eye runs over the addresses of 
the letters, and he eagerly seizes one from Mad- 
ame de Frontignac, and reads it ; and as no one 
but ourselves is looking at him now, his face has 
no need to wear its habitual mask. First comes 
an expression of profound astonishment ; then of 
chagrin and mortification ; then of deepening con- 
cern; there were stops where the dark eyelashes 
flashed together, as if to brush a tear out of the 
view 01 the keen-sighted eyes ; and then a red 
flush rose even to his forehead, and his delicate 
lips wore a sarcastic smile. He laid down the 
letter, and made one or two turns through the 
room. 

The man had felt the dashing against his our* 
18 * 


418 


THE AHNISTER’S WOOING. 


of a strong, generous, indignant woman’s heart 
fully awakened, and speaking with that impassioned 
vigor with which a French regiment charges in 
battle. There were those picturesque, winged words, 
those condensed expressions, those subtile piercings 
of meaning, and, above all, that simple pathos, for 
w hich the French tongue has no superior ; and for 
the moment the woman had the victory ; she 
shook his heart. But Burr resembled the marvel 
with which chemists amuse themselves. His heart 
was a vase filled with boiling passions, — while his 
will, a still, cold, unmelted lump of ice, lay at the 
bottom. 

Self-denial is not peculiar to Christians. He 
who goes downward often puts forth as much 
force to kill a noble nature as another does to 
annihilate a sinful one. There was something in 
this letter so keen, so searching, so self-revealing, 
that it brought on one of those interior crises in 
which a man is convulsed with the struggle of 
two natures, the godlike and the demoniac, and 
from which he must pass out more wholly to the 
dominion of the one or the other. 

Nobody knew the true better than Burr. He 
knew the godlike and the pure ; he had felt its 
beauty and its force to the very depths of his 
being, as the demoniac knew at once the fair 
Man of Nazareth ; and even now he felt the 
voice within that said, “ What have I to do with 


HIE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


419 


thee ? ” and the rending of a struggle of heavenly 
Life with fast-coming eternal death. 

That letter had told him what he might be, and 
what he was. It was as if his dead mother’s 
hand had held up before him a glass in which he 
saw himself white-robed and crowned, and so 
dazzling in purity that he loathed his present self. 

As he walked up and down the room perturbed, 
he sometimes wiped tears from his eyes, and then 
set his teeth and compressed his lips. At last his 
face grew calm and settled in its expression, his 
mouth wore a sardonic smile ; he came and took 
the letter, and, folding it leisurely, laid it on the 
table, and put a heavy paper-weight over it, as if 
to hold it down and bury it. Then drawing to 
himself some maps of new territories, he set him- 
self vigorously to some columns of arithmetical 
calculations on the margin; and thus he worked 
for an hour or two, till his mind was as dry and 
his pulse as calm as a machine ; then he drew the 
inkstand towards him, and scribbled hastily the 
following letter to his most confidential associate, 
— a letter which told no more of the conflict that 
preceded it than do the dry sands and the civil 
gossip of the sea-waves to-day of the storm and 
wreck of last week. 

u J)ear . Nous void — once more in Phil 

ftdelphia. Our schemes in Ohio prosper. Fron 


420 


THE IllNiS'lER’S WOOING. 


fcignac remains there to superintend. He answer* 
our purpose passablement On the whole, I don’t 
see that we could do better than retain him ; he 
is, besides, a gentlemanly, agreeable person, and 
wholly devoted to me, — a point certainly not to 
ne overlooked. 

“ As to your railleries about the fair Madame, I 
must say, in justice both to her and myself, that 
any grace with which she has been pleased to 
honor me is not to be misconstrued. You are 
not to imagine any but the most Platonic of liai- 
sons. She is as high-strung as an Arabian steed, 
— proud, heroic, romantic, and French ! and such 
must be permitted to take their own time and 
way, which we in our gauclierie can only humbly 
wonder at. I have ever professed myself her ab- 
ject slave, ready to follow any whim, and obeying 
the slightest signal of the jewelled hand. As that 
is her sacred pleasure, I have been inhabiting the 
most abstract realms of heroic sentiment, living 
on the most diluted moonshine, and spinning out 
elaborately all those charming and seraphic distinc- 
tions between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee with 
which these ecstatic creatures delight themselves 
in certain stages of affaires du caeur. 

“ The last development, on the part of mv god- 
dess, is a fit of celestial anger, of the cause of 
which I am in the most innocent ignorance. She 
writes me three pages of French sublimities, writ- 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


421 


ing as only a French woman can, — bids me an 
eternal adieu, and informs me she is going to 
Newport. 

u Of course the affair becomes stimulating. I 
am not to presume to dispute her sentence, oi 
doubt a lady’s perfect sincerity in wishing never 
to see me again ; but yet I think I shall try to 
pacify the 

‘ tantas in animis ccelestibus iras.’ 

If a woman hates you, it is only her love turned 
wrong side out, and you may turn it back with 
due care. The pretty creatures know how becom- 
ing a grande passion is, and take care to keep 
themselves in mind ; a quarrel serves their turn, 
when all else fails. 

“ To another point. I wish you to advertise 

S , that his insinuations in regard to me in 

the ‘ Aurora ’ have been observed, and that ] re- 
quire that they be promptly retracted. He knows 
me well enough to attend to this hint. I am in 
earnest when I speak ; if the word does nothing, 
the blow will come, — and if I strike once, no 
second blow will be needed. Yet I do not wish 
to get him on my hands needlessly ; a duel and 
a love affair and hot weather, coming on together 
might prove too much even for me^— N. B Ther 
mometer stands at 8*5. I am resolved on New 
port next week 


“ Yours eve$ 


Purr. 


422 


L'HE MI IbiER’S WOOING. 


“ p. S. I forgot to say, that, oddly enough, rnj 
goddess has gone and placed herself under the 
wing of the pretty Puritan I saw in Newport. 
Fancy the melange ! Could anything be more 
piquant ? — that cart-load of goodness, the old 
Doctor, that sweet little si-int, and Madame Fau- 
bourg St. Germain shaken up together! Fancy 
her listening with well-bred astonishment to a cn- 
tique on the doings of the unregenerate, or flirting 
that little jewelled fan of hers in Mrs. Scudder’s 
square pew of a Sunday ! Probably they will 
carry her to the weekly prayer-meeting, which of 
course she will contrive some fine French subtilty 
for admiring, and find ravissant . I fancy I see it.” 

When Burr had finished this letter, he had ac- 
tually written himself into a sort of persuasion of 
its truth. When a finely constituted nature wishes 
to go into baseness, it has first to bribe itself. 
Evil is never embraced undisguised, as evil, but 
under some fiction which the mind accepts and 
with which it has the singular power of blinding 
itself in the face of daylight. The power of im- 
posing on one’s self is an essential preliminary to 
imposing on ottiers. The man first argues himseif 
down, and tltfjL he is ready to put the whole 
weight of his nature to 
letter ran so smoothly, so plausibly, that it pra 
duced on the writer of it the effect of a work of 


deceiving others. This 


lflK MINISTER’S WOOING. 


4S< 


fiction, which we know to be unreal, but feel to 
be true. Long habits of this kind of self-delusion 
in time produce a paralysis in the vital nerves of 
truth, so that one becomes habitually unable to 
Bee things in their verity, and realizes the awful 
words of Scripture, — “He feedeth on ashes; a 
deceived heart hath turned him aside, that he can* 
not deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lie in 
oay right hand?” 



4*4 


THK MINISTER’S WOOING 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

THE BETROTHED. 

Between three and four the next morning, the 
robin in the nest above Mary’s window stretched 
out his left wing, opened one eye, and gave a 
short and rather drowsy chirp, which broke up his 
night’s rest and restored him to the full conscious- 
ness that he was a bird with wings and feathers, 
with a large apple-tree to live in, and all heaven 
for an estate, — and so, on these fortunate prem- 
ises, he broke into a gush of singing, clear and 
loud, which Mary, without waking, heard in her 
slumbers. 

Scarcely conscious, she lay in that dim clairvoy- 
ant state, when the half-sleep of the outward 
senses permits a delicious dewy clearness of the 
soul, that perfect ethereal rest and freshness of 
faculties, comparable only to what we imagine of 
the spiritual state, — season of celestial enchant- 
ment, in which the heavy weight “ of all this un- 
intelligible world” drops off, and the soul, divinely 
charmed, nestles like a wind-tossed bird in tha 


THr MINISTER’S W0C1NG. 


425 


protecting bosom of the One All-Perfect, All-Beau 
tiful. What visions then come to the inner eye 
havr often no words corresponding in mortal vo- 
eabuaries. The poet, the artist, and the prophet 
in such hours become possessed of divine certain- 
ties which all their lives they struggle with pencil 
or song or burning words to make evident to their 
fellows. The world around wonders ; but they 
are unsatisfied, because they have seen the glory 
And know how inadequate the copy. 

And not merely to selectest spirits come these 
hours, but to those humbler poets, ungifted with 
utterance, who are among men as fountains sealed, 
whose song can be wrought out only by the har- 
mony of deeds, the patient, pathetic melodies of 
tender endurance, or the heroic chant of undis- 
couraged labor. The poor slave-woman, last night 
parted from her only boy, and weary with the 
cotton-picking, — the captive pining in his cell, — 
the patient wife of the drunkard, saddened by a 
consciousness of the growing vileness of one so 
dear to her once, — the delicate spirit doomed to 
harsh and uncongenial surroundings, — all in such 
hours feel the soothings of a celestial harmony, the 
tenderness of more than a mother’s love. 

It is by such seasons as these, more often than 
by reasonings or disputings, that doubts are re- 
solved in the region of religious faith. The All* 
Father treats us as the mother does her u infant 


426 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


crying in the dark;” lie does not reason with 
our fears, or demonstrate their fallacy, but draws 
ns silently to His bosom, and we are at peace. 
Nay, there have been those, undoubtedly, who have 
known God falsely with the intellect, yet felt Him 
truiy with the heart, — and there be many, princi- 
pally among the unlettered little ones of Christ’s 
flock, who positively know that much that is dog- 
matically propounded to them of their Redeemer is 
cold, barren, unsatisfying, and utterly false, who 
yet can give no account of their certainties better 
than that of the inspired fisherman, “We know 
Him, and have seen Him.” It was in such hours 
as these that Mary’s deadly fears for the soul of 
her beloved had passed all away, — passed out of 
her. — as if some warm, healing nature of tender- 
est vitality had drawn out of her heart all pain 
and coldness, and warmed it with the breath of 
an eternal summer. 

So, while the purple shadows spread their gauzy 
veils inwoven with fire along the sky, and the 
gloom of the sea broke out here and there into 
lines of light, and thousands of birds were answer- 
ing to each other from apple-tree and meadow- 
grass, and top of jagged rock, or trooping in bands 
hither and thither like angels on loving messages, 
Mary lay there with the flickering light through 
the leaves fluttering over her face, and the glow 
*>f dawn warming the snow-white draperies c f the 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


427 


bed and giving a tender rose-hue to the calm 
cheek. She lay half-conscious, smiling the while, 
as one who sleeps while the heart waketh, and 
who hears in dreams the voice of the One Eter- 
nally Beautiful and Beloved. 

Mrs. Scudder entered her room, and, thinking 
that she still slept, stood and looked down on her. 
She fait as one does who has parted with some 
precious possession, a sudden sense of its value 
coming over her; she queried in herself whether 
any living mortal were worthy of so perfect a gift 
and nothing but a remembrance of the Doctor’* 
prostrate humility at all reconciled her to the sac- 
rifice she was making. 

u Mary, dear ! ” she said, bending over her, with 
an unusual infusion of emotion in her voice, 
— “ darling child ! ” 

The arms moved instinctively, even before the 
eyes unclosed, and drew her mother down to her 
with a warm, clinging embrace. Love in Puritan 
families was often like latent caloric, — an all-per- 
vading force, that affected no visible thermometer, 
shown chiefly by a noble silent confidence, a ready 
helpfulness, but seldom outbreathed in caresses ; 
yet natures like Mary’s always craved these out- 
ward demonstrations, and leaned towards them as 
a trailing vine sways to the nearest support. It 
was delightful for once fully to feel how much 
her mother loved her, as well as to know it 


♦28 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ Dear, precious mother ! do you love me so 
very much ? ” 

“ I live and breathe in you, Mary ! ” said Mrsi 
Scudder, — giving vent to herself in one of those 
trenchant shorthand expressions, wherein positive 
natures incline to sum up everything, if they must 
speak at all. 

Mary held her mother silently to her breast, 
her heart shining through her face with a quiet 
radiance. 

u Do you feel happy this morning ? ” said Mrs. 
Scudder. 

“ Very, very, very happy, mother ! ” 

“ I am so glad to hear you say so ! ” said Mrs. 
Scudder, — who, to say the truth, had entertained 
many doubts on her pillow the night before. 

Mary began dressing herself in a state of calm 
exaltation. Every trembling leaf on the tree, every 
sunbeam, was like a living smile of God, — every 
fluttering breeze like His voice, full of encourage- 
ment and hope. 

“ Mother, did you tell the Doctor what I said 
last night?” 

“ I did, my darling.” 

“ Then, mother, I would like to see him a few 
moments alone.” 

“ Well, Mary, he is in his study, at his morn 
ing devotions.” 

“ That is just the time. I will go to him.” 


Till MINISTER’S WOOiNG. 


42S 


The Doctor was sitting by the window ; and 
the honest-hearted, motherly lilacs, abloom for the 
third time since our story began, were filling the 
air with their sweetness. 

Suddenly the door opened, and Mary entered, in 
her simple white short-gown and skirt, her eyes 
calmly radiant, and her whole manner having some- 
thing serious and celestial. She came directly to- 
wards him and put out both her little hands, with 
a smile half childlike, half angelic; and the Doctor 
bowed his head and covered his face with his 
hands. 

“ Dear friend,” said Mary, kneeling and taking 
his hands, “ if you want me, I am come. Life is 
but a moment, — there is an eternal blessedness 
just beyond us, — and for the little time between 
I will be all I can to you, if you will only show 
me how.” 

And the Doctor 

No, young man, — the study-door closed just 
then, and no one heard those words from a quaint 
old Oriental book which told that all the poe- 
try of that grand old soul had burst into flower, 
as the aloe blossoms once in a hundred years. 
The feelings of that great heart might have fallen 
unconsciously into phrases from that one love-poem 
of the Bible which such men as he read so purely 
and devoutly, anc which warm the icy clearness 
of their intellection with the myrrh and spices of 


*30 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ardent lands, where earthly and heavenly love meet 
and blend ill one indistinguishable horizon-line, like 
sea and sky. 

“ Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, 
fair as the moon, clear as the sun ? My dove, my 
undefiled, is but one ; she is the only one of hei 
mother. Thou art all fair, my love ; there is no 
spot in thee ! ” 

The Doctor might have said all this ; we will 
not say he did, nor will we say he did not ; all 
we know is, that, when the breakfast-table was 
ready, they came out cheerfully together. Mad- 
ame de Frontignac stood in a fresh white wrapper, 
with a few buttercups in her hair, waiting for the 
breakfast. She was startled to see the Doctor en- 
tering all-radiant, leading in Mary by the hand, 
and looking as if he thought she were some dream- 
miracle which might dissolve under his eyes, unless 
he kept fast hold of her. 

The keen eyes shot their arrowy glance, which 
went at once to the heart of the matter. Madame 
de Frontignac knew they were affianced, and re- 
garded Mary with attention. 

The calm, sweet, elevated expression of her face 
struck her ; it struck her also that that was not the 
light of any earthly love, — that it had no thrill, 
no blush, no tremor, but only the calmness of a 
soul that knows itself no more ; and she sighed 
involuntarily 


l'HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


431 


She looked at the Doctor, and seemed to study 
attentively a face which happiness made this morn- 
ing as genial and attractive as it was generally 
Btrong and fine. 

There was little said at the breakfast-table ; and 
yet the loud singing of the birds, the brightness 
of the sunshine, the life and vigor of all things, 
seemed to make up for the silence of those who 
were too well pleased to speak. 

“ Eh bien , ma chere ,” said Madame, after break- 
fast, drawing Mary into her little room, — “ c’est 
done fini?” 

“ Yes,” said Mary, cheerfully. 

“ Thou art content ? ” said Madame, passing her 
arm around her. “ Well, then, I should be. But, 
Mary, it is like a marriage with the altar, like tak- 
ing the veil, is it not ? ” 

“ No,” said Mary ; “ it is not taking the veil ; it 
is beginning a cheerful, reasonable life with a 
kind, noble friend, who will always love me 
truly, and whom I hope to make as happy as 
he deserves.” 

“ I think well of him, my little cat,” said Mad- 
ame, reflectively ; but she stopped something she 
was going to say, and kissed Mary’s forehead. 
After a moment’s pause, she added, “ One must 
have love or refuge, Mary; — this is thy refuge, 
child ; thou wilt have peace in it.” She sighed 
again, “ Enfin ,” she said, resuming her gay tone. 


432 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


* what shall be la toilette de noces ? Thou shalt 
have Virginie’s pearls, my fair one, and look like 
a sea-born Venus. Tiens , let me try them in thy 
hair.” 

And in a few moments she had Mary’s long 
hair down, and was chattering like a blackbird, 
wreathing the pearls in and out, and saying a 
thousand pretty little nothings, — weaving grace 
and poetry upon the straight thread of Puritan 
life. 





'• fails; MlNIhTEK'fc WOOINO 


4*3 


CHAPTER XXIX 

BUSTLE IN THE PARISH. 

The announcement of the definite engagement 
jf two such bright particular stars in the hemi- 
sphere of the Doctor’s small parish excited the in- 
terest that such events usually create among the 
faithful of the flock. 

Theie was a general rustle and flutter, as when 
a covey of wild pigeons has been started ; and 
all the little elves who rejoice in the name of 
u says he ” and u says I ” and “ do tell ” and “ have 
you heard ” were speedily flying through the con- 
secrated air of the parish. 

The fact was discussed by matrons and maid- 
ens, at the spinning-wheel, in the green clothes- 
yard, and at the foamy wash-tub, out of which 
rose weekly a new birth of freshness and beauty. 
Many a rustic Venus of the foam, as she splashed 
her dimpled elbows in the rainbow-tinted froth, 
talked of what should be done for the forthcom- 
ing solemnities, and wondered what Mary would 
have on when she was married, and whether she 

19 


Wi Tttft MINISTER’S WOOttvU. 

(the Venus) should gel an invitation to the wed 
ding, and whether Ethan would go, — not, of 
course, that she cared in the least whether he did 
or not. 

Grav e, elderly matrons talked about the pros- 
perity of Zion, which they imagined intimately 
connected with the event of their minister’s mar- 
riage ; and descending from Zion, speculated oi 
bed-quilts and table-cloths, and rummaged their 
own clean, sweet-smelling stores, fragrant with 
balm and rose-leaves, to lay out a bureau-cover 
or a pair of sheets, or a dozen napkins for the wed- 
ding outfit. 

The solemnest of solemn quiltings was resolved 
upon. Miss Prissy declared that she fairly couldn't 
sleep nights with the responsibility of the wedding- 
dresses on her mind, but yet she must give one 
day to getting on that quilt. 

The grand monde also was in motion. Mrs. 
General Wilcox called in her own particular car- 
riage, bearing present of a Cashmere shawl for the 
bride, with the General’s best compliments, — also 
un oak-leaf pattern for quilting, which had been 
sent her from England, and which was authenti- 
cally established to be that used on a petticoat 
belonging to the Princess Royal. And Mrs. Major 
Seaforth came also, bearing a scarf of wrought 
India muslin ; and Mrs. Vernon sent a splendid 
China punch-bowl. Indeed, to say the truth, the 


TFL MINISTER’S WOOING. 43t 

notables high and mighty of Newport, whom the 
Doctor had so unceremoniously accused of build 
ing their houses with blood and establishing their 
city with iniquity, considering that nobody seemed 
to take his words to heart, and that they were 
making money as fast as old Tyre, rather as- 
sumed the magnanimous, and patted themselves 
on the shoulder for this opportunity to show the 
Doctor that after all they were good fellows, though 
they did make money at the expense of thirty per 
cent, on human life. 

Simeon Brown was the only exception. He 
stood aloof, grim and sarcastic, and informed some 
good middle-aged ladies who came to see if he 
would, as they phrased it, “ esteem it a privilege 
to add his mite” to the Doctor’?, outfit, that he 
would give him a likely negro boy, if he wanted 
him, and, if he was too conscientious to keep him, 
he might sell him at a fair profit, — a happy stroke 
of humor which he was fond of relating many 
years after. 

The quilting was in those days considered the 
most solemn and important recognition of a be- 
trothal. And for the benefit of those not to the 
manner born, a little preliminary instruction may 
be necessary. 

The good wives of New England, impressed 
with that thrifty orthodoxy of economy which for 
oids tc waste the merest trifle, had a habit of sav 


436 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ing every scrap clipped out in the fashioning of 
household garments, and these they cut into fanci 
fill patterns and constructed of them rainbow 
shapes and quaint traceries, the arrangement of 
which became one of their few fine arts. Many a 
maiden, as she sorted and arranged fluttering bits 
of green, yellow, red, and blue, felt rising in her 
breast a passion for somewhat vague and unknown, 
which came out at length in a new pattern cf 
patchwork. Collections of these tiny fragments 
were always ready to fill an hour when there was 
nothing else to do ; and as the maiden chattered 
with her beau, her busy flying needle stitched to- 
gether those pretty bits, which, little in themselves, 
were destined, by gradual unions and accretions, 
to bring about at last substantial beauty, warmth, 
and comfort, — emblems thus of that household life 
which is to be brought to stability and beauty by 
reverent economy in husbanding and tact in ar- 
ranging the little useful and agreeable morsels of 
daily existence. 

When a wedding was forthcoming, there was a 
solemn review of the stores of beauty and utility 
thus provided, and the patchwork-spread best 
worthy of such distinction was chosen for the 
quilting. Thereto, duly summoned, troc oed all in- 
timate female friends of the bride, old and young 
and the quilt being spread on a frame, and wad 
dcd with cotton, each vied with the others in the 


THI MINISTER’S WOOING. 


437 


delicacy of the quilting she could put upon it. 
For the quilting also was a fine art, and had its 
delicacies and nice points, — which grave elderly 
matrons discussed with judicious care. The quilt- 
ing generally began at an early hour in the after- 
noon, and ended at dark with a great supper and 
general jubilee, at which that ignorant and inca- 
pable sex which could not quilt was allowed to 
appear and put in claims for consideration of 
another nature. It may, perhaps, be surmised that 
this expected reinforcement was often alluded to 
by the younger maidens, whose wickedly coquet- 
tish toilettes exhibited suspicious marks of that 
willingness to get a chance to say u No ” which 
has been slanderously attributed to mischievous 
maidens. 

In consideration of the tremendous responsibili 
ties involved in this quilting, the reader will nol 
be surprised to learn, that, the evening before, Miss 
Prissy made her appearance at the brown cottage, 
armed with thimble, scissors, and pincushion, in 
order to relieve her mind by a little preliminary 
confabulation. 

“ You see me, Miss Scudder, run ’most to 
death,” she said; “but I thought I would just 
run up to Miss Major Seaforth’s and see her best 
bedroom quilt, ’cause I wanted to have all the 
ideas we possibly could, before I decided on the 
pattern. Hers is in shells,— just common shells,— 


138 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


nothing to be compared with Miss Wilcox’s oa»j> 
leaves; and I suppose there isn’t the least doubt 
that Miss Wilcox’s sister, in London, did get that 
from a lad} who had a cousin who was governess 
in the royal family; and I just quilted a little bit 
to-day on an old piece of silk, and it comes out 
beautiful ; and so I thought I would just come 
and ask you if you did not think it was best for 
us to have the oak-leaves.” 

“ Well, certainly, Miss Prissy, if you think so,” 
said Mrs. Scudder, who was as pliant to the opin- 
ions of this wise woman of the parish as New 
England matrons generally are to a reigning dress- 
maker and factotum. 

Miss Prissy had the happy consciousness, always, 
that her early advent under any roof was consid- 
ered a matter of especial grace; and therefore it 
was with rather a patronizing tone that she an- 
nounced that she would stay and spend the night 
with them. 

“ I knew,” she added, “ that your spare chamber 

was full, with that Madame de , what do 

you call her? — if I was to die, I could not re- 
member the woman’s name. Well, I thought I 
could curl in with you, Mary, ’most anywhere.” 

“ That’s right, Miss Prissy,” said Mary ; “ you 
shall be welcome to half my bed any time.” 

u Well, T knew you would say so, Mary ; . 
uever saw the thing you would not give; awa? 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


439 


one half ol, since jou was that high,” said Miss 
Prissy, — illustrating her words by placing her hand 
about two feet from the floor. 

Just at ihis moment, Madame de Frontignac 
entered and asked Mary to come into her room 
and give her advice as to a piece of embroidery. 
When she was gone out, Miss Prissy looked after 
her and sunk her voice once more to the confi- 
dential whisper which we before described. 

“ I have heard strange stories about that French 
woman,” she said ; “ but as she is here with you 
and Mary, I suppose there cannot be any truth in 
them. Dear me! the world is so censorious about 
women! But then, you know, we don’t expect 
much from French women. I suppose she is a 
Roman Catholic, and worships pictures and stone 
images ; but then, after all, she has got an im- 
mortal soul, and I can’t help hoping Mary’s influ- 
ence may be blest to her. They say, when she 
speaks French, she swears every few minutes ; and 
if that is the way she was brought up, may-be 
she isn’t accountable. I think we can’t be too 
charitable for people that a’n’t privileged as we 
are. Miss Vernon’s Polly told me she had seen 
her sew Sundays, — sew Sabbath-day! She came 
into her room sudden, and she was working on 
her embroidery there; and she never winked noi 
Dlushed, nor offered to put it away, but sat there 
iust as easy! Polly said she never was so beat 


140 


THE MINISTER*!? WOOING. 


in all her life; she felt kind o’ scared, every time 
Bhe thought of it. But now she has come here, 
who knows but she may be converted ? ” 

“ Mary has not said much about her state of 
mind,” said Mrs. Scudder ; “ but something of 
deep interest has passed between them. Mary is 
such an uncommon child, that I trust everything 
to her.” 

We will not dwell further on the particulars of 
this evening, — nor describe how Madame de Fron- 
tignac reconnoitred Miss Prissy with keen, amused 
eyes, — nor how Miss Prissy assured Mary, in the 
confidential solitude of her chamber, that her fin- 
gers just itched to get hold of that bamming on 
Madame de Frog — something’s dress, because 
she was pretty nigh sure she could make some 
just like it, for she never saw any trimming she 
could not make. 

The robin that lived in the apple-tree was fairly 
outgeneralled the next morning ; for Miss Prissy 
was up before him, tripping about the chamber 
on the points of her toes, knocking down all the 
movable things in the room, in her efforts i/> be 
still, so as not to wake Mary; and it was not 
until she had finally up«et the stand by the bed, 
with the candlestick, snuffers, and Bible on it, that 
Mary opened her eyes. 

“ Miss Prissy ! dear me ! what is it you are 
doing 1 ” 


IHE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


44 


w Why, 1 am trying to be still, Mary, so as not 
to wake you up; and it seems to me as if every- 
thing was possessed, to tumble down so. But it 
is only half past three, — so you turn over and 
go to sleep.” 

u But, Miss Prissy,” said Mary, sitting up in 
bed, “ you are all dressed ; where are you going ? ” 

“ Well, to tell the truth, Mary, I am just one 
of those people that can’t sleep when they have 
got responsibility on their minds ; and I have been 
lying awake more than an hour here, thinking 
about that quilt. There is a new way of getting 
it on to the frame that I want to try ; ’cause, 
you know, when we quilted Cerinthy Stebbins’s, 
it would trouble us in the rolling; and I have got 
a new way that I want to try, and I mean just 
to get it on to the frame before breakfast. 1 was 
in hopes I should get out without waking any of 
you. I am in hopes I shall get by your mother’s 
door without waking her, — ’cause I know she 
works hard and needs her rest, — but that bed- 
room door squeaks like a cat, enough to raise the 
dead ! 

“ Mary,” she added, with sudden energy, “ If I 
had the least drop of oil in a teacup, and a )>it 
of quill, I’d stop that door making such a noise.” 
A.nd Miss Prissy’s eyes glowed with resolution. 

“ I don’t know where you could fiud any at 
this time,” said Mary. 

19 * 


H2 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ Well, never mind ; Fll just go and open trie* 
door as slow and careful as I can,” said Miss 
Prissy, as she trotted out of the apartment. 

The result of her carefulness was very soon an- 
nounced to Mary by a protracted sound resem- 
bling the mewing of a hoarse cat, accompanied 
by sundry audible grunts from Miss Prissy, termi- 
nating in a grand finale of clatter, occasioned by 
her knocking down all the pieces of the quilting- 
frame that stood in the corner of the room, with 
a concussion that roused everybody in the house. 

“What is that?” called out Mrs. Scudder, from 
her bedroom. 

She was answered by two streams of laughter 
— one from Mary, sitting up in bed, and the 
other from Miss Prissy, holding her sides, as she 
tat dissolved in merriment on the sanded floor 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


443 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE QUILTING. 

By six o’clock in the morning, Miss Prissy 
came out of the best room to the breakfast-table, 
with the air of a general who has arranged a 
campaign, — her face glowing with satisfaction. 
All sat down together to their morning meal. 
The outside door was open into the green, turfy 
yard, and the apple-tree, now nursing stores of 
fine yellow jeannetons, looked in at the window. 
Every once in a while, as a breeze shook the 
leaves, a fully ripe apple might be heard falling 
to the ground, at which Miss Prissy would bustle 
up from the table and rush to secure the treasure. 

As the meal waned to its close, the rattling 
of wheels was heard at the gate, and Candace 
was discerned, seated aloft in the one-horse wagon, 
with her usual complement of baskets and bags. 

u Well, now, dear me ! if there isn’t Candace ! ” 
said Miss Prissy ; “I do believe Miss Marvyn has 
sent her with something for the quilting!” and 
out she flew as nimble as a humming-bird, while 


C44 THE MINISTER’S WOOING 

those in the house heard various exclamations of 
admiration, as Candace, with stately dignity, dis- 
interred from the wagon one basket after another 
and exhibited to Miss Prissy’s enraptured eyes sly 
peeps under the white napkins with which they 
were covered. And then, hanging a large basket 
on either arm, she rolled majestically towards the 
house, like a heavy-laden Indiaman, coming in 
after a fast voyage. 

“ Good-mornin’, Miss Scudder ! good-mornin’ 
Doctor ! ” she said, dropping her curtsy on the 
door-step ; “ good-mornin’, Miss Mary ! Ye see 
our folks was stirrin’ pootty early dis mornin’, an’ 
Miss Marvyn sent me down wid two or tree little 
tings.” 

Setting down her baskets on the floor, and seat- 
ing herself between them, she proceeded to de- 
velop their contents with ill-concealed triumph. 
One basket was devoted to cakes of every spe- 
cies, from the great Mont-Blanc loaf-cake, with its 
snowy glaciers of frosting, to the twisted cruller 
und piffy doughnut. In the other basket lay pots 
of golden butter curiously stamped, reposing on a 
bed of fresh, green leaves, — while currants, red 
and white, and delicious cherries and raspberries, 
gave a final finish to the picture. From a basket 
which Miss Prissy brought in from the rear ap* 
peared cold fowl and tongue delicately prepared, 
and shaded with feathers of parsley. Candace, 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


445 


*diose rollicking delight in the good things of ihis 
life was conspicuous in every emotion, might have 
furnished to a painter, as she sat in her brilliant 
turban, an idea for an African Genius of Plenty. 

“ Why, really, Candace,” said Mrs. Scudder 
“ you are overwhelming us ! ” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ho ! ” said Candace, “ Ps tellin’ Miss 
Marvyn folks don’t git married but once in dei 
lives, (gin’ally speakin’, dat is,) an’ den dey oughter 
hab plenty to do it wic.” 

“ Well, I must say,” said Miss Prissy, taking 
out the loaf-cake with busy assiduity, — “I must 
say, Candace, this does beat all!” 

“ I should rader tink it oughter,” said Candace, 
bridling herself with proud consciousness ; “ ef it 
don’t, ’ta’n’t ’cause ole Candace ha’n’t put enough 
into it. I tell ye, I didn’t do nothin’ all day yis 
terday but jes’ make dat ar cake. Cato, when he 
got up, he begun to talk someh’n’ ’bout his shirt 
buttons, an’ I jes’ shet him right up. Says I 
‘ Cato, when I’s r’ally got cake to make for a 
great ’casion, I wants my mind jest as quiet an’ 
jest as serene as ef I was a-goin’ to de sacra* 
ment. I don’t want no ’arthly cares on’t. Now/ 
says I, 1 Cato, de ole Doctor’s gwine to be mar- 
ried, an’ dis yer’s his quiltin’-cake, — an’ Miss 
Mary, she’s gwine to be married, an’ dis yer’s her 
quiltin’-cake. An’ dar’ll be eberybody to dat ar 
quiltin’; an’ ef de cake a’n’t right, why, ’twould 


446 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

be puttin’ a candle under a bushel. An’ so,’ says 
I, ‘ Cato, your buttons mus’ wait.’ An’ Cato, he 
sees de ’priety ob it, ’cause, dough he can’t make 
cake like me, he’s a ’mazin’ good judge on’t, an’ 
is dre’ful tickled when I slips out a little loaf for 
his supper.” 

“ How is Mrs. Marvyn ? ” said Mrs. Scudder. 

“ Kinder thin and shimmery ; but she’s about, 
- • habin’ her eyes eberywar ’n’ lookin’ into ebery- 
ting. She jes’ touches tings wid de tips ob her 
hungers an’ dey seem to go like. She’ll be down 
to de quiltin’ dis arternoon. But she tole me to 
take de tings an’ come down an’ spen’ de day 
here ; for Miss Marvyn an’ I both knows how 
many steps mus’ be taken sech times, an’ we 
agreed you oughter favor yourselves all you could.” 

“ Well, now,” said Miss Prissy, lifting up hei 
hands, “if that a’n’t what ’tis to have friends! 
Why, that was one of the things I was thinking 
of, as I lay awake last night ; because, you know, 
at times like these, people run their feet off before 
the time begins, and then they are all limpsey 
and lop-sided when the time comes. Now, I say, 
Candace, all Miss Scudder and Mary have to do 
is to give everything up to us, and we’ll put it 
through straight.” 

“Dat’s what we will!” said Candace. “Jes 
ihow me what’s to be done, an’ I’ll do it.” 

Candace and Miss Prissy soon disappeared to 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


447 


gethei into the pantry with the baskets, whose 
contents they began busily to arrange. Candace 
shut the door, that no sound might escape, and 
began a confidential outpouring to Miss Prissy. 

“ Ye see,” she said, u Ps feelin's all de while for 
Miss Marvyn ; ’cause, ye see, she was expectin’, 
ef eber Mary was married, — well — dat ’twould 
be to somebody else, ye know.” 

Miss Prissy responded with a sympathetic groan. 

“ Well,” said Candace, “ ef ’t had ben anybody 
but de Doctor, I wouldn’t ’a’ been resigned. But 
arter all he has done for my color, dar a’n’t noth- 
in’ I could find it in my heart to grudge him. 
But den I was tellin’ Cato t’oder day, says I, 
‘ Cato, I dunno ’bout de rest o’ de world, but I 
ha’n’t neber felt it in my bones dat Mass’r James 
is r’ally dead, for sartin.’ Now I feels tings giV- 
ally , but some tings I feels in my bones , and dem 
allers comes true. And dat ar’s a feelin’ I ha’n’t 
had ’bout Mass’r Jim yit, an’ dat ar’s what Pm 
waitin’ for ’fore I clar make up my mind. Though 
I know, ’cordin’ to all white folks’ way o’ tinkin’, 
ilar a’n’t no hope, ’cause Squire Marvyn he had 
dat ar Jeduth Pettibone up to his house, a-ques- 
tionin’ on him, off an’ on, nigh about tree hours. 
An ; r’ally I didn’t see no hope no way, ’xcept 
jes’ dis yer, as I was tellin’ Cato, — I can't feel it 
in my bones," 

Candace was not versed enough in the wisdom 


448 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


of the world to know that she belonged to a large 
and respectable school of philosophers in this par- 
ticular mode of testing evidence, which, after all, 
the reader will perceive has its conveniences. 

“ Anoder ting,” said Candace, “ as much as a 
dozen times, dis yer last year, when Fs been 
a-scourin’ knives, a fork has fell an’ stuck straight 
up in de floor; an’ de las’ time I pinted it out to 
Miss Marvyn, an’ she on’y jes’ said, ‘ Why, what 
o’ dat, Candace?’” 

“ Well,” said Miss Prissy, “ I don’t believe in 
signs, but then strange things do happen. Now 
about dogs howling under windows, — why, I don’t 
believe in it a bit, but I never knew it fail that 
there was a death in the house after.” 

“ Ah, I tell ye what,” said Candace, looking 
mysterious, “ dogs knows a heap more’n dey likes 
to tell ! ” 

“ Jes’ so,” said Miss Prissy. “ Now I remem- 
ber, one night, when I was watching with Miss 
Colonel Andrews, after Marthy Ann was born, 
that we heard the mournfulest howling that ever 
you did hear. It seemed to come from right un 
der the front stoop ; and Miss Andrews she just 
dropped the spoon in her gruel, and says she 

Miss Prissy, do, for pity’s sake, just go down 
and see what that noise is.’ And I went down 
and lifted up one of the loose boards of the stoop 
and what should I see there but I heir Newfound 


THE MINISTER’S MOOING. 


449 


land pup? — there that creature had dug a grave 
and was a-sitting by it, crying ! ” 

Candace drew near to Miss Prissy, dark with 
expressive interest, as her voice, in this awful nar- 
ration, sank to a whisper. 

u Well,” said Candace, after Miss Prissy had 
made something of a pause. 

‘ Well, I told Miss Andrews I didn’t think there 
was anything in it,” said Miss Prissy ; “ but,” she 
added, impressively, “ she lost a very dear brother, 
six months after, and I laid him out with my 
own hands, — yes, laid him out in white flannel.” 

“ Some folks say,” said Candace, “ dat dreamin’ 
’bout white horses is a sartin sign. Jinny Styles 
is berry strong ’bout dat. Now she - come down 
one mornin’ cryin’, ’cause she’d been dreamin’ ’bout 
white horses, an’ she was sure she should hear 
some friend was dead. An’ sure enough, a man 
come in dat bery day an’ tole her her son was 
drownded out in de harbor. An’ Jinny said, ‘ Dar ! 
she was sure dat sign neber would fail.’ But den, 
ye see, dat night he come home. Jinny wa’n’t 
r’ally disappinted, but she allers insisted he was 
as good as drownded , any way, ’cause he sunk tree 
times.” 

“ Well, I tell you,” said Miss Prissy, “ there are 
a great many more things in this world than folks 
know about.” 

“ So dey are,’ said Canaace. u Now, I ha’n** 


150 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


neber opened my mind to nobody; but dar’s a 
dream Fs had, tree mornin’s runnin’, lately. 1 
dreamed I see Jim Marvyn a-sinkin’ in de water, 
an' stretchin’ up his hands. An’ den I dreamed I 
see de Lord Jesus come a- walkin’ on de water an’ 
take hold ob his hand, an’ says he, ‘ O thou of 
Little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?’ An’ den 
he lifted him right out. An’ I ha’ n’t said nothin’ 
to nobody, ’cause, you know, de Doctor, he says 
people mus’n’t mind nothin’ ’bout der dreams, 
cause dreams belongs to de ole ’spensation.” 

“ Well, well, well ! ” said Miss Prissy, “ I arr 
sure I don’t know what to think. What time in 
the morning was it that you dreamed it?” 

u Why,” said Candace, “ it was jest arter bird- 
peep. I kinder ailers wakes myself den, an’ turns 
ober, an’ what comes arter dat is apt to run 
clar.” 

“Well, well, well!” said Miss Prissy, “I don’t 
know what to think. You see, it may have refer- 
ence to the state of his soul.” 

“ I know dat,” said Candace ; “ but as nigh as 
1 could judge in my dream,” she added, sinking 
her voice and looking mysterious, “ as nigh as 1 
can judge, dat boy's soul was in his body ! ” 

“ Why. how do you know ? ” said Miss Prissy 
Looking astonished at the confidence with which 
Candace expressed her opinion. 

“ Well, ye see ” said Candace, rather mysteri- 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


451 


ously, de Doctor, he don’t like to hab us talk 
much ’bout dese yer tings, ’cause he tinks it’s kind 
o’ heathenish. But den, folks as is used to seem’ 
sech tings knows de look ob a sperit out o’ de 
body from de look ob a sperit in de body, jest as 
easy as you can tell Mary from de Doctor.” 

At this moment Mrs. Scudder opened the pantry- 
door and put an end to this mysterious conversa- 
tion, which had already so affected Miss Prissy, 
that, in the eagerness of her interest, she had 
rubbed up her cap border and ribbon into rather 
an elfin and goblin style, as if they had been ruf- 
fled up by a breeze from the land of spirits ; and 
she flew around for a few moments in a state of 
great nervous agitation, upsetting dishes, knocking 
down plates, and huddling up contrary suggestions 
as to what ought to be done first, in such impos- 
sible relations that Mrs. Katy Scudder stood in 
dignified surprise at this strange freak of conduct 
in the wise woman of the parish. 

A dim consciousness of something not quite 
canny in herself seemed to strike her, for she made 
a vigorous effort to appear composed ; and facing 
Mrs. Scudder, with an air of dignified suavity, in- 
quired if it would not be best to put Jim Marvyr 
in the oven now, while Candace was getting the 
pies ready, — meaning, of course, a large turkey, 
which was to be the first in an indefinite series to 
be baked that morning ; and discovering, by Mrs 


il)2 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


Scudder’s dazed expression and a vigorous pinch 
from Candace, that somehow she had not improved 
matters, she rubbed her spectacles into a diagonal 
position across her eyes, and stood glaring, half 
through, half over them, with a helpless expression 
which in a less judicious person might have sug 
gested the idea of a state of slight intoxication. 

But the exigencies of an immediate temporal 
dispensation put an end to Miss Prissy’s un- 
wonted vagaries, and she was soon to be seen 
flying round like a meteor, dusting, shaking cur- 
tains, counting napkins, wiping and sorting china, 
all with such rapidity as to give rise to the no- 
tion that she actually existed in forty places al 
once 

Candace, whom the limits of her corporeal frame 
restricted to an altogether different style of loco- 
motion, often rolled the whites of her eyes after 
her and gave vent to her views of her proceedings 
in sententious expressions. 

“ Do you know why dat ar neber was married ? ” 
she said to Mary, as she stood looking after her. 
Miss Prissy had made one of those rapid transits 
through the apartment. 

“ No,” answered Mary, innocently. “Why wasn’t 
she ?” 

“’Cause neber was a man could run fast enough 
to cotch her,” said Candace ; and then her portlj 
person shook with the impulse of her own wit. 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


453 


By two o’clock a goodly company began to 
assemble. Mrs. Deacon Twitchel arrived, soft, 
pillowy, and plaintive as ever, accompanied by 
Cerinthy Ann, a comely damsel, tall and trim, 
with a bright black eye, and a most vigorous and 
dbtermined style of movement. Good Mrs. Jones, 
oroad, expansive, and solid, having vegetated tran- 
quilly on in the cabbage-garden of the virtues 
since three years ago, when she graced our tea- 
party, was now as well preserved as ever, and 
brought some fresh butter, a tin pail of cream, 
and a loaf of cake made after a new Philadelphia 
receipt. The tall, spare, angular figure of Mrs. 
Simeon Brown alone was wanting ; but she pat- 
ronized Mrs. Scudder no more, and tossed her 
head with a becoming pride when her name was 
mentioned. 

The quilt-pattern was gloriously drawn in oak- 
leaves, done in indigo ; and soon all the company, 
young and old, were passing busy fingers over it 
and conversation went on briskly. 

Madame de Frontignac, we must not forget to 
say, had entered with hearty abandon into the 
spirit of the day. She had dressed the tall china 
vases on the mantel-pieces, and, departing from 
the usual rule of an equal mixture of roses and 
asparagus-bushes, had constructed two quaint and 
graceful bouquets where garden-flowers were min- 
gled with drooping grasses and trailing wild vines, 




*54 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


forming a graceful combination which excited the 
surprise of all who saw it. 

“ It’s the very first time in my life that I evei 
saw grass put into a flower-pot,” said Miss Prissy; 
“ but I must say it looks as handsome as a pic- 
ture. Mary, I must sa},” she added, in an aside, 
“ I think that Madame de Frongenac is the sweet- 
est dressing and appearing creature I ever saw; 
she don’t dress up nor put on airs, but she seems 
to see in a minute how things ought to go ; and 
if it’s only a bit of grass, or leaf, or wild vine, 
that she puts in her hair, why, it seems to come 
just right. I should like to make her a dress, for 
I know she would understand my fit ; do speak 
to her, Mary, in case she should want a dress fitted 
here, to let me try it.” 

At the quilting, Madame de Frontignac would 
have her seat, and soon won the respect of the 
paHy by the dexterity with which she used her 
needle ; though, when it was whispered that she 
learned to quilt among the nuns, some of the 
elderly ladies exhibited a slight uneasiness, as be- 
ing rather doubtful whether they might not be 
encouraging Papistical opinions by allowing hei 
an equal share in the work of getting up their 
minister’s bed-quilt ; but the younger part of the 
company were quite captivated by her foreign air 
and the pretty manner in which she lisped her 
English ; and Cerinthy Ann even went so far a* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINU. 455 

to horrify her mother by saying that she wished 
she’d been educated in a convent herself, — a decla- 
ration which arose less from native depravity than 
from a certain vigorous disposition, which often 
shows itself in young people, to shock the current 
opinions of their elders and betters. Of course, 
the conversation took a general turn, somewhat ir 
unison 'ttrjth the spirit of the occasion ; and when- 
ever it flagged, some allusion to a forthcoming 
wedding, or some sly hint at the future young 
Madame of the parish, was sufficient to awaken 
the dormant animation of the company. 

Cerinthy Ann contrived to produce an agreeable 
electric shock by declaring, that, for her part, she 
never could see into it, how any girl could marry 
a minister, — that she should as soon think of set- 
ting up housekeeping in a meeting-house. 

“ Oh, Cerinthy Ann ! ” exclaimed her mother, 
“ how can you go on so ? ” 

“ It’s a fact,” said the adventurous damsel ; 
u now other men let you have some peace, — but 
a minister’s always round under your feet.” 

“ So you think, the less you see of a husband, 
the better?” said one of the ladies. 

“Just my views,” said Cerinthy, giving a decided 
snip to her thread with her scis&ors; “ l like the 
Nantucketers, that go off on four- years’ voyages 
and leave their wives a clear field. If ever I get 
married, I’m going up to have one of those fellows.’ 


456 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


It is to be remarked, in passing, that Miss Ce- 
rinthy Ann was at this very time receiving sur- 
reptitious visits from a consumptive-looking, con- 
scientious, young theological candidate, who came 
occasionally to preach in the vicinity, and put up 
at the house of the Deacon, her father. This good 
young man, being violently attacked on the doc- 
trine of Election by Miss Cerinthy, had been 
drawn on to illustrate it in a most practical man- 
ner, to her comprehension; and it was the con- 
sciousness of the weak and tottering state of the 
internal garrison that added vigor to the young 
lady’s tones. As Mary had been the chosen con- 
fidante of the progress of this affair, she was 
quietly amused at the demonstration. 

“ You’d better take care, Cerinthy Ann,” said 
her mother ; “ they say that ‘ those who sing be- 
fore breakfast will cry before supper.’ Girls talk 
about getting married,” she said, relapsing into a 
gentle didactic melancholy, “ without realizing its 
awful responsibilities.” 

“ Oh, as to that,” said Cerinthy, “ I’ve been prac- 
tising on my pudding now these six years, and 1 
shouldn’t be afraid to throw one up chimney with 
any girl.” 

This speech was founded on a tradition, current 
tn those times, that no young lady was fit to be 
married till she could construct a boiled Indian 
pudding of such consistency that it could be 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


457 


thrown up chimney and come down on the 
ground, outside, without breaking ; and the con- 
sequence of Cerinthy Ann’s sally was a general 
laugh. 

“ Girls a’n’t what they used to be in my day,” 
aententiously remarked an elderly lady. “ I re- 
member my mother told me when she was 
thirteen she could knit a long cotton stocking 
ill a day.” 

“ I haven’t much faith in these stories of old 
times, — have you, girls ? ” said Cerinthy, appeal- 
ing to the younger members at the frame. 

“ At any rate,” said Mrs. Twitchel, “ our minis- 
ter’s wife will be a pattern ; I don’t know any- 
body that goes beyond her either in spinning or 
fine stitching.” 

Mary sat as placid and disengaged as the new 
moon, and listened to the chatter of old and 
young with the easy quietness of a young heart 
that has early outlived life, and looks on every- 
thing in the world from some gentle, restful emi- 
nence far on towards a better home. She smiled 
at everybody’s word, had a quick eye for every- 
body’s wants, and was ready with thimble, scis- 
sors, or thread, whenever any one needed them ; 
but once, when there was a pause in the conver- 
sation, she and Mrs. Marvyn were both discov- 
ered to have stolen away. They were seated 
du the bed in Mary’s little room, with their arms 
20 


458 1HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

around each other, communing in low and gentle 
tones. 

“ Mary, my dear child,” said her friend, “ this 
event is very pleasant to me, because it places 
you permanently near me. I did not know bu; 
eventually this sweet face might lead to my losing 
you, who are in some respects the dearest friend 
I have.” 

u You might be sure,” said Mary, “ I never 
would have married, except that mv mother’s hap* 
piness and the happiness of so good a friend 
seemed to depend on it. When we renounce self 
in anything, we have reason to hope for God’s 
blessing; and so I feel assured of a peaceful life 
in the course I have taken. You will always be 
as a mother to me,” she added, laying her head 
on her friend’s shoulder. 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Marvyn ; “ and I must not let 
myself think a moment how dear it might have 
been to have you more my own. If you feel re- 
ally, truly happy, — if you can enter on this life 
without any misgivings ” 

“ I can,” said Mary, firmly. 

At this instant, very strangely, the string which 
confined a wreath of sea-shells around her glass, 
having been long undermined by moths, suddenly 
broke and fell down, scattering the shells upon the 
fl J>or. 

Both women started, for the string of shells hat 


l HE MINIS ! £RS WOOING. 


459 


been placed there by James ; and though iieithei 
was superstitious, this was one of those odd coin 
cidences that make hearts throb. 

“Dear boy!” said Mary, gathering the shells up 
tenderly ; “ wherever he is, I shall nevei cease to 
love him. It makes me feel sad to see this come 
down; but it is only an accident; nothing of him 
will ever fail out of my heart.” 

Mrs. Marvyn clasped Mary closer to her, with 
tears in her eyes. 

“ I’ll tell you what, Mary ; it must have been 
the moths did that,” said Miss Prissy, who had 
been standing, unobserved, at the door for a mo- 
ment back ; 11 moths will eat away strings just so. 
Last week Miss Vernon’s great family-picture fell 
down because the moths eat through the cord ; 
people ought to use twine or cotton string always. 
But I came to tell you that the supper is all set, 
and the Doctor out of his study, and all the peo- 
ple are wondering where you are.” 

Mary and Mrs. Marvyn gave a hasty glance at 
themselves in the glass, to be assured of their good 
keeping, and went into the great kitchen, where a 
long table stood exhibiting all that plenitude of 
mo vision which the immortal description of Wash- 
ington Irving has saved us the trouble of recapitu- 
lating in detail. 

The husbands, brothers, and lovers had come in 
and the scene was redolent of gayety. When 


160 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


Mary made her appearance, there was a moment’! 
pause, till she was conducted to the side of tho 
Doctor ; when, raising his hand, he invoked a grace 
upon the loaded board. 

Unrestrained gayeties followed. Groups of young 
men and maidens chatted together, and all the 
gallantries of the times were enacted. Serious 
matrons commented on the cake, and told each 
other high and particular secrets in the culinary 
art, which they drew from remote family-archives. 
One might have learned in that instructive assem- 
bly how best to keep moths out of blankets, — 
how to make fritters of Indian corn undistinguish- 
able from oysters, — how to bring up babies by 
hand, — how to mend a cracked teapot, — how to 
take out grease from a brocade, — how to recon- 
cile absolute decrees with free will, how to make 
five yards of cloth answer the purpose of six, — 
and how to put down the Democratic party. All 
were busy, earnest, and certain, — just as a swarm 
of men and women, old and young, are in 1859. 

Miss Prissy was in her glory ; every bow of her 
best cap was alive with excitement, and she pre- 
sented to the eyes of the astonished Newport gen- 
try an animated receipt-book. Some of the infor- 
mation she communicated, indeed, was so valuable 
and important that she could not trust the ail 
tfith it, but whispered the most important portions 
.n a confidential tone. Among the crowd, Oerin 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING 


4S1 


tny Ann’s theological admirer was observed in 
deeply reflective attitude ; and that high-spirited 
young lady added further to his convictions of the 
total depravity of the species by vexing and dis- 
composing him in those thousand ways in which 
a lively, ill-conditioned young woman will put to 
rout a serious, well-disposed young man, — com* 
forting herself with the reflection, that by-and*by 
she would repent of all her sins in a lump to- 
gether. 

Vain, transitory splendors ! Even this evening, 
so glorious, so heart* cheering, so fruitful in instruc- 
tion and amusement, could not last forever. Grad- 
ually the company broke up ; the matrons mount- 
ed soberly on horseback behind their spouses; and 
Cerinthy consoled her clerical friend by giving him 
an opportunity to read her a lecture on the way 
home, if he found the courage to do so. 

Mr. and Mrs. Marvyn and Candace wound their 
way soberly homeward ; the Doctor returned to his 
Btudy for nightly devotions ; and before long, sleep 
settled down on the brown cottage. 

“ I’ll tell you what, Cato,” said Candace, before 
composing herself to sleep, u I can’t feel it in my 
bones dat dis yer weddin’s gwine to come off yit* 




THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN ADVENTURE. 

A day or two after, Madame de Frontignae ana 
Mary went out to gather shells and seaweed «n 
the beach. It was four o’clock ; and the afternoon 
sun was hanging in the sultry sky of July with 
a hot and vaporous stillness. The whole air was 
full of blue haze, that softened the outlines of 
objects without hiding them. The sea lay like so 
much glass ; every ship and boat was double ; 
every line and rope and spar had its counterpart; 
and it seemed hard to say which was the more 
real, the under or the upper world. 

Madame de Frontignae and Mary had brought 
a little basket with them, which they were filling 
with shells and sea-mosses. The former was in 
high spirits. She ran, and shouted, and exclaimed, 
and wondered at each new marvel thrown out 
upon the shore, with the abandon of a little child. 
Mary could not but wonder whether this indeed 
were she whose strong words had pierced and 
wrung hei sympathies the other night, and whether 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


ft deep life- wound could lie bleeding under those 
brilliant eyes and that infantine exuberance of 
gayety ; yet, surely, all that which seemed so 
strong, so true, so real could not be gone so soon, 
— and it could not be so soon consoled. Mary 
wondered at her, as the Anglo-Saxon constitution, 
with its strong, firm intensity, its singleness of 
nature, wonders at the mobile, many-sided exist- 
ence of warmer races, whose versatility of emo- 
tion on the surface is not incompatible with the 
most intense persistency lower down. 

Mary’s was one of those indulgent and tolerant 
natures which seem to form the most favorable 
base for the play of other minds, rather than to 
be itself salient, — and something a-boat aer tender 
calmness always seemed to provoke the spirit of 
frolic in her friend. She would laugh at her, kiss 
her, gambol round her, dress her hair with fantas- 
tic coiffures, and call her all sorts of fanciful and 
poetic names in French or English, — while Mary 
surveyed her with a pleased and innocent surprise, 
as a revelation of character altogether new and 
different from anything to which she had been 
hitherto accustoi led. She was to her a living 
pantomime, and brought into her unembellished 
Life the charms of opera and theatre and romance. 

After wearying themselves with their researches, 
they climbed round a point of rock that stretched 
iome way out into the sea, and attained to a lit- 


164 


THE MINISTER’ S WOOING. 


tie kind of grotto, where the high cliffs shut out 
the rays of the sun. They sat down to rest upon 
the rocks. A fresh breeze of declining day was 
springing up, and bringing the rising tide land- 
ward. —each several line of waves with its white 
crests coming up and breaking graceiully on the 
hard, spariding sand-beach at their feet. 

Mary’s eyes fixed themselves, as they were apt 
to do, in a mournful reverie, on the infinite ex- 
panse of waters, which was now broken and 
chopped into a thousand incoming waves by the 
fresh afternoon breeze. Madame de Frontignac 
noticed the expression, and began to play with 
her as if she had been a child. She pulled the 
comb from her hair, and let down its long silky 
waves upon her shoulders. 

“ Now,” said she, “ let us make a Miranda of 
thee. This is our cave. I will be Prince Ferdi- 
nand. Burr told me all about that, — he reads 
beautifully, and explained it all to me. What a 
lovely story that is! — you must be so happy, who 
know how to read Shakspeare without learning ! 
Tenez ! I will put this shell on your forehead, — 
it has a hole here, and I will pass this gold chain 
through, — now! What a pity this seaweed will 
not be pretty out of water! it has no effect; out 
there is some green that will do; — let me fasten 
it so. Now, fair Miranda, look at thyself!” 

Where is the girl so angelic as not to feel y 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


465 


Blight caiiosity to know how she shall look in a 
new and strange costume ? Mary bent over the 
rock, where a little pool of water lay in a brown 
hollow above the fluctuations of the tide, dark and 
still, like a mirror, — and saw a fair face, with a 
white shell above the forehead and drooping wreaths 
of green seaweed in the silken hair; and a faint 
blush and smile rose on the cheek, giving the last 
finish to the picture. 

“How do you find yourself?” said Madame. 
“ Confess now that I have a true talent in coiffure. 
Now I will be Ferdinand.” 

She turned quickly, and her eye was caught by 
something that Mary did not see; she only saw 
the smile fade suddenly from Madame de Frontig- 
nac’s cheek, and her lips grow deadly white, while 
her heart beat so that Mary could discern its flut- 
terings under her black silk bodice. 

“ Will the sea-nymphs punish the rash presump- 
tion of a mortal who intrudes ? ” said Colonel 
Burr, stepping before them with a grace as invin- 
cible and assured as if he had never had any past 
history with either. 

Mary started with a guilty blush, like a child 
detected in an unseemly frolic, and put her hand 
to her head to take off the unwonted adornments. 

“ Let me protest, in the name of the Graces,” 
said Burr, who by that time stood with easy calm- 
ness at her side ; and as he spoke, he stayed her 
20 * 


466 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


hand with that gentle air of authority which .nark 
it the natural impulse of most people to obey him. 
4 It would be treason against the picturesque,” he 
added, “ to spoil that toilette, so charmingly unit 
mg the wearer to the scene.” 

Mary was taken by surprise, and discomposed 
as every one is who finds himself masquerading 
in attire foreign to his usual habits and character; 
and therefore, when she would persist in taking it 
to pieces, Burr found sufficient to alleviate the 
embarrassment of Madame de Frontignac’s utter 
silence in a playful run of protestations and com- 
pliments. 

44 I think, Mary,” said Madame de Frontignac, 
“that we had better be returning to the house.” 

This was said in the haughtiest and coolest tone 
imaginable, looking at the place where Burr stood, 
as if there were nothing there but empty air. 
Mary rose to go; Madame de Frontignac offered 
her arm. 

44 Permit me to remark, ladies,” said Burr, with 
the quiet suavity which never forsook him, “that 
your very agreeable occupations have caused time 
to pass more rapidly than you are aware. I think 
you will find that the tide has risen so as to in- 
tercept the path by which you came here. Yon 
will hardly be able to get around the point of 
rocks without some assistance.” 

Mary looked a few paces ahead, and saw, a 


THK MINISTER’S WOOING. 


467 


litrtle befoie them, a fresh afternoon breeze driving 
the rising tide high on to the side of the rocks, at 
whose foot their course had lain. The nook in 
which they had been sporting formed part of a 
shelving ledge which inclined over their heads, and 
which it was just barely possible could be climbed 
by a strong and agile person, but which would be 
wholly impracticable to a frail, unaided woman. 

“ There is no time to be lost,” said Burr, coolly, 
measuring the possibilities with that keen eye that 
was never discomposed by any exigency. u I am 
at your service, ladies; I can either cany you in 
my arms around this point, or assist you up these 
rocks.” 

He paused and waited for their answer. 

Madame de Frontignac stood pale, cold, and 
silent, hearing only the wild beating of her heart. 

u I think,” said Mary, “ that we should try the 
rocks.” 

“ Very well,” said Burr; and placing his gloved 
hand on a fragment of rock somewhat above their 
heads, he swung himself up to it with an easy 
agility; from this he stretched himself down as 
far as possible towards them, and, extending his 
hand, directed Mary, who stood foremost, to set 
her foot on a slight projection, and give him both 
her hands ; she did so, and he seemed to draw her 
up as easily as if she had been a feather. He 
placed her by him on a shelf of rook, and turned 


iGb THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

again to Madame de Frontignac; she folded he* 
arms and turned resolutely away towards the sea. 

Just at that moment a coming wave broke at 
her feet. 

“ There Is no time to be lost,” said Burr ; 
“ there’s a tremendous surf coming in, and the 
next wave may carry you out.” 

“ Tant mieuxl ” she responded, without turning 
her head. 

“ Oh, Virginie ! Virginie ! ” exclaimed Mary, kneel- 
ing and stretching her arms over the rock ; but 
another voice called Virginie, in a tone which 
went to her heart. She turned and saw those 
dark eyes full of tears. 

“ Oh, come ! ” he said, with that voice which she 
never could resist. 

She put her cold, trembling hands into his, and 
he drew her up and placed her safely beside Mary. 
A few moments of difficult climbing followed, in 
which his arm was thrown now around one and 
then around the other, and they felt themselves 
carried with a force as if the slight and graceful 
torm were strung with steel. 

Placed in safety on the top of the bank, there 
was a natural gush of grateful feeling towards 
their deliverer. The severest resentment, the coolest 
moral disapprobation, are necessarily somewhat soft* 
ened, when the object of them has just laid one 
>inder a personal obligation. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


469 


Burr did not seem disposed to press his advan- 
tage, and treated the incident as the most matter- 
of-course affair in the world. He offered an arm 
to each lady, with the air of a well-bred gentle- 
man who offers a necessary support ; and each 
took it, because neither wished, under the circum- 
stances, to refuse. 

He walked along leisurely homeward, talking in 
that easy, quiet, natural way in which he excelled, 
addressing no very particular remark to either one, 
and at the door of the cottage took his leave, say- 
ing, as he bowed, that he hoped neither of them 
would feel any inconvenience from their exertions, 
and that he should do himself the pleasure to call 
soon and inquire after their health. 

Madame de Frontignac made no reply ; but 
curtsied with a stately grace, turned and went into 
her little room, whither Mary, after a few minutes, 
followed her. 

She found her thrown upon the bed, her fuce 
buried in the pillow, her breast heaving as if she 
were sobbing; but when, at Mary’s entrance, she 
:aised her head, her eyes were bright and dry. 

“ It is just as I told you, Mary, — that man 
holds me. I love him yet, in spite of myself. It 
is in vain to be angry. What is the use of strik- 
ing your right hand with your left? When we 
love one more than ourselves, we only hurt our- 
selves with our anger ’ 


470 


Tin MINISTER’S WOOING. 


But,’ said Mary, “ love is founded on respe< t 
and esteem ; and when that is gone ” 

“ Why, then,” said Madame, “ we are very sorry 
-but we love yet. Do we stop loving ourselves 
when we have lost our own self-respect? No! it 
is so disagreeable to see, we shut our eyes and 
ask to have the bandage put on, — you know that , 
poor little heart! You can think how it would 
have been with you, if you had found that he was 
not what you thought.” 

The word struck home to Mary’s consciousness, 
— but she sat down and took her friend in her 
arms with an air self-con trolled, serious, rational. 

“ I see and feel it all, dear Virginie, but I must 
stand firm for you. You are in the waves, and 1 
on the shore. If you are so weak at heart, you 
must not see this man any more.” 

“ But he will call.” 

“ I will see him for you.” 

“What will you tell him, my heart? — tell him 
that I am ill, perhaps?” 

“No; I will tell him the truth, — that you do 
not wish to see him.” 

“That is hard; — he will wonder.” 

“I think not,” said Mary, resolutely; “and fur- 
thermore, I shall say to him, that, while Madame 
de Frontignac is at the cottage, it will not bf 
agreeable for us to receive calls fiom him.” 

“ Mary, ma chire , you astonish me ! ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


471 


A My dear friend,” said Mary, “ it is the only 
way. This man — this cruel, wicked, deceitful man 
— must not be allowed to trifle with you in this 
way. I will protect you.” 

And she rose up with flashing eye and glowing 
cheek looking as her father looked when he pro- 
tested against ihe slave-trade. 

“ Thou art my Saint Catharine,” said Virginie, 
rising up, excited by Mary’s enthusiam, “ and hast 
the sword as well as the palm ; but, dear saint, 
don’t think so very, very badly of him ; — he has 
a noble nature ; he has the angel in him.” 

“ The greater his sin,” said Mary ; “ he sins 
against light and love.” 

“But I think his heart is touched, — I think he 
is sorry. Oh, Mary, if you had only seen how he 
looked at me when he put out his hands on the 
rocks! — there were tears in his eyes.” 

“ Well there might be ! ” said Mary ; u I do not 
think he is quite a fiend; no one could look at 
those cheeks, dear Virginie, and not feel sad, that 
saw you a few months ago.” 

“ Am I so changed ? ” she said, rising and look- 
ing at herself in the mirror. “ Sure enough, — my 
neck used to be quite round; — now you can see 
those two little bones, like rocks at low tide. Poor 
V irginie ! her summer is gone, and the leaves are 
falling; poor little cat!” — and Virginie stroked 
her own chestnut head, as if she had been pitying 


472 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


another, and began humming a little Norman air 
with a refrain that sounded like the murmur of a 
brook over the stones. 

The more Mary was touched by these little 
poetic ways, which ran just on an even line be- 
tween the gay and the pathetic, the more indig- 
nant she grew with the man that had brought all 
this sorrow. She felt a saintly vindictiveness, and 
a determination to place herself as an adamantine 
shield between him and her friend. There is no 
courage and no anger like that of a gentle woman, 
when once fully roused ; if ever you have occasion 
to meet it, you will certainly remember the hour. 






THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


47 * 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

PLAIN TALK. 

Mary revolved the affairs of her friend in hei 
mind, during the night. The intensity of the 
mental crisis through which she had herself just 
passed had developed her in many inward respects, 
so that she looked upon life no longer as a timid 
girl, but as a strong, experienced woman. She 
had thought, and suffered, and held converse with 
eternal realities, until thousands of mere earthly 
hesitations and timidities, that often restrain a 
young and untried nature, had entirely lost their 
hold upon her. Besides, Mary had at heart the 
true Puritan seed of heroism, — never absent from 
the souls of true New England women. Her es- 
sentially Hebrew education, trained in daily con 
verse with the words of prophets and seers, and 
with the modes of thought of a people essentially 
grave and heroic, predisposed her to a kind of ex 
altation, which, in times of great trial, might rise 
to the heights of the religious-sublime, in which 
the impulse of self-devotion took a form essentially 


♦74 


1 HE MINISTER’S WoONG. 


commanding. The very intensity of the repression 
under which her faculties had developed seemed 
as it were, to produce a surplus of hidden strength, 
which came out in exigencies. Her reading, though 
restricted to a few volumes, had been of the kina 
that vitalized and stimulated a poetic nature, and 
laid up in its chambers vigorous words and trench- 
ant phrases, for the use of an excited feeling, — 
so that eloquence came to her as a native gift. 
She realized, in short, in her higher hours, the last 
touch with which Milton finishes his portrait of 
an ideal woman: — 

“ Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat 
Build in her loftiest, and create an awe 
About her as a guard angelic placed.” 

The next morning, Colonel Burr called at the 
cottage. Mary was spinning in the garret, and 
Madame de Frontignac was reeling yarn, when 
Mrs. Scudder brought this announcement. 

“ Mother,” said Mary, “ I wish to see Mr. Burr 
alone. Madame de Frontignac will not go down.” 

Mrs. Scudder looked surprised, but asked no 
questions. When she was gone down, Mary stood 
a moment reflecting; Madame de Frontignac looked 
eager and agitated. 

“ Remember and notice all he says, and just 
how he looks, Mary, so as to tell me; and be sure 
and say that I thank him for his kindness yester 


\HE MINISTER’S WOOING 


475 


day. We must own, he appeared very well there, 
did he not?” 

“Certainly,” said Mary; “but no man could 
have done less.” 

“ Ah ! but, Mary, not every man could have 
clone it as he did. Now don’t be too hard on 
him, Mary; — I have said dreadful things to him, 
I am afraid I have been too severe. After all, 
these distinguished men are so tempted ! we don’t 
know how much they are tempted ; and who can 
wonder that they are a little spoiled ? So, my 
angel, you must be merciful.” 

“ Merciful ! ” said Mary, kissing the pale cheek, 
and feeling the cold little hands that trembled in 
hers. 

“ So you will go down in your little spinning- 
toilette, mimi? I fancy you look as Joan of Arc 
did, when she was keeping her sheep at Domremy. 
Go, and God bless thee!” and Madame de Fron- 
tignac pushed her playfully forward. 

Mary entered the room where Burr was seated, 
and wished him good-morning, in a serious and 
placid manner, in which there was not the slightest 
trace of embarrassment or discomposure. 

“ Shall I have the pleasure of seeing your fair 
companion this morning ? ” said Burr, after some 
moments of indifferent conversation. 

1 No, Sir; Madame de Frontignac desires me 
to excuse her to you.” 


176 


THE MINISTER'S V/001NG. 


u Is she ill ? ” said Burr, with a look of concern 
u No, Mr. Burr, she prefers not to see you.” 
Burr gave a start of well-bred surprise, and Mary 
added, — 

“ Madame de Frontignac has made me familiar 
with the history ot your acquaintance with her ; 
and you will therefore understand what I mean, 
Mr. Burr, when I say, that, during the time of her 
stay with us, we should prefer not to receive calls 
from you.” 

u Your language, Miss Scudder, has certainly 
the merit of explicitness.” 

u I intend it shall have, Sir,” said Mary, tran- 
quilly; “half the misery in the world comes of 
want of courage to speak and to hear the truth 
plainly and in a spirit of love.” 

“ I am gratified that you add the last clause, 
Miss Scudder ; I might not otherwise recognize 
the gentle being whom I have always regarded as 
the impersonation of all that is softest in woman. 
I have not the honor of understanding in the least 
the reason of this apparently capricious sentence, 
but I bow to it in submission.” 

“ Mr. Burr,” said Mary, walking up to him, and 
looking him full in the eyes, with an energy that 
for the moment bore down his practised air of 
easy superiority, “ I wish to speak to you for a 
moment, as one immortal soul should to another, 
without any of those false glosses and deceits 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINu. 


477 


which men call ceremony and good manners. 
You have done a very great injury tc a lovely 
lady, whose weakness ought to have been sacred 
in your eyes. Precisely because you are what 
you are, — strong, keen, penetrating, and able to 
control and govern all who come near you, — be- 
cause you have the power to make yourself agree- 
able, interesting, fascinating, and to win esteem 
and love, — just for that reason you ought to hold 
yourself the guardian of every woman, and treat 
her as you would wish any man to treat your own 
daughter. I leave it to your conscience, whether 
this is the manner in which you have treated 
Madame de Frontignac. ,, 

u Upon my word, Miss Scudder,” began Burr, 
u I cannot imagine what representations our mu- 
tual friend may have been making. I assure you, 
our intercourse has been as irreproachable as the 
most scrupulous could desire.” 

“ 4 Irreproachable ! — scrupulous !’ — Mr. Burr, you 
know that you have taken the very life out of 
her. You men can have everything, — ambition, 
wealth, power ; a thousand ways are open to you : 
women have nothing but their heart ; and when 
that is gone, all is gone. Mr. Burr, you remem- 
ber the rich man who had flocks and herds, but 
nothing would do for him but he must have the 
one little ewe -lamb which was all his poor neigh- 
bor had. Thou art the man! You have stolen all 


478 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINu. 


the love she had to give, — all that she had to 
make a happy home; and you can never give hei 
anything in return, without endangering her purity 
and her soul, — and you knew you could not. 1 
know you men think this is a light matter; but it 
is death to us. What will this woman’s life be? 
one long struggle to forget; and when you have 
forgotten her, and are going on gay and happy, — 
when you have thrown her very name away as a 
faded flower, she will be praying, hoping, fearing 
for you ; though all men deny you, yet will not 
she. Yes, Mr. Burr, if ever your popularity and 
prosperity should leave you, and those who now 
flatter should despise and curse you, she will al- 
ways be interceding with her own heart and with 
God for you, and making a thousand excuses 
where she cannot deny; and if you die, as I fear 
you have lived, unreconciled to the God of your 
fathers, it will be in her heart to offer up her very 
soul for you, and to pray that God will impute 
all your sins to her, and give you heaven. Oh, I 
know this, because I have felt it in my own heart!” 
and Mary threw herself passionately down into a 
chair, and broke into an agony of uncontrolled 
sobbing. 

Burr turned away, and stood looking through 
the window ; tears were dropping silently, unchecked 
by the cold, hard pride which was the evil demon 
of his life. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


479 


It is due to our human nature to believe that 
no man could ever have been so passionately and 
enduringly loved and revered by both men and 
women as he was, without a beautiful and lova- 
ble nature ; — no man ever demonstrated more 
forcibly the truth, that it is not a man’s natural 
constitution, but the use he makes of it, which 
stamps him as good or vile. 

The diviner part of him was weeping, and the 
cold, proud demon was struggling to regain his 
lost ascendency. Every sob of the fair, inspired 
child who had been speaking to him seemed to 
shake his heart, — he felt as if he could have fallen 
on his knees to her; and yet that stoical habit 
which was the boast of his life, which was the 
sole wisdom he taught to his only and beautiful 
daughter, was slowly stealing back round his heart, 
— and he pressed his lips together, resolved that 
no word should escape till he had fully mastered 
himself. 

In a few moments Mary rose with renewed 
calmness and dignity, and, approaching him 
Baid, — 

u Before I wish you good-morning, Mr. Burr, 1 
must ask pardon for the liberty I have taken in 
speaking so very plainly.” 

u There is no pardon needed, my dear child,” 
Baid Burr, turning and speaking very gently, and 
with a face expressive of a softened concern ; “ if 


480 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


you have told me harsh truths, it was with gentle 
intentions ; — I only hope that I may prove, at 
least by the future, that I am not altogether so 
bad as you imagine. As to the friend whose 
name has been passed between us, no man can go 
beyond me in a sense of her real nobleness ; I 
am sensible how little I can ever deserve the sen- 
timent with which she honors me. I am ready, 
in my future course, to obey any commands that 
you and she may think proper to lay upon me.” 

“ The only kindness you can now do her,” said 
Mary, “ is to leave her. It is impossible that you 
should be merely friends; — it is impossible, with- 
out violating the holiest bonds, that you should be 
more. The injury done is irreparable ; but you 
can avoid adding another and greater one to it.” 

Burr looked thoughtful. 

“ May I say one thing more ? ” said Mary, the 
color rising in her cheeks. 

Burr looked at her with that smile that always 
drew out the confidence of every heart. 

“ Mr. Burr,” she said, if you will pardon me, but 
[ cannot help saying this : You have, I am told, 
wholly renounced the Christian faith of youi 
fathers, and build your whole life on quite an- 
other foundation. I cannot he L p feeling that this 
is a great and terrible mistake. I cannot help 
wishing that you would examine and recon 
aider ” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


f81 


M My dear child, I am extremely grateful to you 
lor your remark, and appreciate fully the purity 
of the source fiom which it springs. Unfortu- 
nately, our intellectual beliefs are not subject to 
the control of our will. I have examined, and the 
examination has, I regret to say, not had the effect 
you would desire.” 

Mary looked at him wistfully ; he smiled and 
bowed, — all himself again ; and stopping at the 
door, he said, with a proud humility, — 

“ Do me the favor to present my devoted regard 
to your friend ; believe me, that hereafter you shall 
have less reason to complain of me.” 

He bowed, and was gone. 

An eye-witness of the scene has related, that, 
when Burr resigned his seat as President of his 
country’s Senate, an object of peculiar political 
bitterness and obloquy, almost all who listened to 
him had made up their minds that he was an 
utterly faithless, unprincipled man ; and yet, such 
was his singular and peculiar personal power, that 
his short farewell-address melted the whole assem- 
bly into tears, and his most embittered adversaries 
were charmed into a momentary enthusiasm of 
admiration. 

It must not be wondered at, therefore, if our 
simple-hearted, loving Mary strangely found all 
her indignation against him gone, and herself lit- 
tle disposed to criticize the impassioned tenderness 
21 


182 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


with which Madame de Frontignac still regarded 
him. 

We have one thing more that we cannot avoid 
saving, of two men so singularly in juxtaposition 
as Aaron Burr and Dr. Hopkins. Both had a per- 
fect logic of life, and guided themselves with an 
Inflexible rigidity by it. Burr assumed individual 
pleasme to be the great object of human exist- 
ence ; Dr. Hopkins placed it in a life altogether 
beyond self. Burr rejected all sacrifice ; Hopkins 
considered sacrifice as the foundation of all exist- 
ence. To live as far as possible without a disa 
greeable sensation was an object which Burr pro- 
posed to himself as the summum bonum , for which 
he drilled down and subjugated a nature of singu- 
lar richness. Hopkins, on the other hand, smoothed 
the asperities of a temperament naturally violent 
and fiery by a rigid discipline which guided it en- 
tirely above the plane of self-indulgence ; and, in 
the pursuance of their great end, the one watched 
against his better nature as the other did against 
his worse. It is but fair, then, to take their lives 
as ths practical workings of their respective ethica. 
creeds. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 




CHAPTER XXXIII. 

NEW ENGLAND IN FRENCH EYES. 

We owe our readers a digression at this point, 
while we return for a few moments to say a lit- 
tle more of the fortunes of Madame de Fron- 
tignac, whom we left waiting with impatience for 
the termination of the conversation between Mary 
and Burr. 

“ Emftn, chere SybilleJ' said Madame de From 
tignac, when Mary came out of the room, with 
her cheeks glowing and her eye flashing with a 
still unsubdued light, “ te voila encore ! What did 
he say, mimi ? — did he ask for me ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mary, “ he asked for you.” 

“ What did you tell him ? ” 

“ I told him that you wished me to excuse 
you.” 

“ How did he look then ? — did he look sur- 
prised ? ” 

“ A good deal so, I thought,” said Mary. 

“ Allans, mimi, — tell me all you said, and all 
tie said” 


1*4 THE AJINISTER’S W001HG. 

« Oh,” said Mary, “ I am the worst person in 
the world ; in fact, I cannot remember anything 
that I have said; but I told him that he must 
leave you, and never see you any more.” 

“ Oh, mimi , never!” 

Madame de Frontignac sat down on the side of 
the bed with sucn a look of utter despa ii as went 
to Mary’s heart. 

“ You know that it is best, Virginie ; do you 
not ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know it ; mais pourtant , c'est dur 
comme la mort. Ah, well, what shall Virginie do 
now ? ” 

“ You have your husband,” said Mary. 

“ Je ne Vaime point” said Madame de Frontig- 
nac. 

“ Yes, but he is a good and honorable man, and 
you should love him.” 

“ Love is not in our power,” said Madame de 
Frontignac. 

“ Not every kind of love,” said Mary, “ but 
some kinds. If you have a kind, indulgent friend 
who protects you and cares for you, you can be 
grateful to him, you can try to rr xke him happy 
and in time you may come to love him very 
much. He is a thousand times nobler man, if 
what you say is true, than the one who has in 
ured you so.” 

w Oh, Mary ; ” said Madame de Frontignac 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


486 


“there are some cases where we find it too easy 
to love orn enemies.” 

“ More than that,” said Mary ; « I believe, that, 
if -you go on patiently in the way of duty, and 
pray daily to God, He will at last take out of 
your heart this painful love, and give you a true 
and healthy one. As you say, such feelings are 
verv sweet and noble ; but they are not the only 
ones we have to live by ; — we can find happiness 
in duty, in self-sacrifice, in calm, sincere, honest 
friendship. That is what you can feel for your 
husband.” 

“ Your words cool me,” said Madame de Fron- 
tignac ; “ thou art a sweet snow-maiden, and my 
heart is hot and tired. I like to feel thee in my 
arms,” she said, putting her arms around Mary, 
and resting her head upon her shoulder. “ Talk 
to me so every day, and read me good cool verses 
out of that beautiful Book, and perhaps by-and-by 
I shall grow still and quiet like you.” 

Thus Mary soothed her friend; nut every few 
days this soothing had to be done over, as long 
as Burr remained in Newport. When he was 
finally gone, she grew more calm. The simple, 
homely ways of the cottage, the healthful routine 
of daily domestic toils, into which she delighted 
to enter, brought refreshment to her spirit. That 
fine tact and exquisite social sympathy, which dis 
fcinguish the French above otnei nations, caused 


486 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


her at once to enter into the spirit of the life in 
which she moved ; so that she no longer shocked 
any one’s religious feelings by acts forbidden by 
the Puritan idea of Sunday, or failed in any of 
the exterior proprieties of religious life. She also 
read and studied with avidity the English Bible, 
which came to her with the novelty of a wholly 
new book in a new language ; nor was she with- 
out a certain artistic appreciation of the austere 
precision and gravity of the religious life by which 
she was surrounded. 

“ It is sublime, but a little glaciate , like the Alps,” 
she sometimes said to Mary and Mrs. Marvyn, 
when speaking of it ; u but then,” she added, play- 
fully, “ there are the flowers, — les roses des Alpes , - 
and the air is very strengthening, and it is near to 
heaven, — faut avouer .” 

We have shown how she appeared to the eye 
of New England life ; it may not be uninteresting 
to give a letter to one of her Mends, which showed 
how the same appeared to her. It was not a friend 
with whom she felt on such terms, that her intimacy 
with Burr would appear at all in the correspondence. 

“ You behold me, my charming Gabrielle, quite 
pastoral, recruiting from the dissipations of my 
Philadelphia life in a quiet cottage, with most 
worthy, excellent people, whom I have learned to 
love ven much They are good and true, as pious 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


487 


a3 the saints themselves, although they do not be- 
long to the Church, — a thing which I am sorry 
for; but then let us hope, that, if the world is 
wide, heaven is wider, and that all worthy people 
will find room at last. This is Virginie’s own 
little, pet, private heresy ; and when I tell it to the 
Abb6, he only smiles, and so I think, somehow, 
that it is not so very bad as it might be. 

“We have had a very gay life in Philadelphia, 
and now I am growing tired of the world, and 
think I shall retire to my cheese, like Lafontaine’s 
rat. 

“ These people in the country here in America 
have a character quite their own, very different 
from the life of cities, where one sees, for the most 
part, only a continuation of the forms of good 
society which exist in the Old World. 

“ In the country, these people seem simple, grave, 
severe, always industrious, and, at first, cold and 
reserved in their manners towards each other, but 
with great warmth of heart They are all obedient 
to the word of their minister, who lives among 
them just like any other man, and marries and 
has children. 

“Everything in their worship is plain and au- 
stere; their churches are perfectly desolate; they 
have no chants, no pictures, no carvings, — only a 
most disconsolate, bare-looking building, where they 
meet together, and sing one or twe hymns, and the 


188 THE MINIS lfcK’S VTOOING. 

minister makes one or two prayers, all out of his 
own thoughts, and then gives them a long, long 
discourse about things which I cannot understand 
enough English to comprehend. 

“ There is a very beautiful, charming young girl 
here, the daughter of my hostess, who is as lovely 
and as saintly as St. Catharine, and has such a 
genius for religion, that, if she had been in our 
Church, she would certainly have been made a 
saint. 

“ Her mother is a good, worthy matron ; and 
the good priest lives in the family. I think he is 
a man of very sublime religion, as much above 
this world as a great mountain ; but he has the true 
sense of liberty and fraternity ; for he has dared to 
oppose with all his might this detestable and cruel 
trade in poor negroes, which makes us, who are so 
proud of the example of America in asserting the 
rights of men, so ashamed for her inconsistencies. 

“ Well, now, there is a little romance getting up 
in the cottage ; for the good priest has fixed his 
eyes on the pretty saint, and discovered, what he 
must be blind not to see, that she is very lovely 
— and so, as he can marry, he wants to make her 
his wife ; and her mamma, who adores him as il 
he were God, is quite set upon it. The sweei 
Marie, however, has had a lover of her own in 
her little heart, a beautiful young man, who went 
to sea, as heroes always do, to seek his fortune 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 4 b2 

And the cruel sea has drowned him ; and the 
poor little saint has wept and prayed, till she is 
so thin and sweet and mournful that it makes 
one’s heart ache to see her smile. In our Church, 
Gabrielle, she would have gone into a convent ; 
but she makes a vocation of her daily life, and 
goes round the house so sweetly, doing all the 
little work that is to be done, as sacredly as the 
nuns pray at th3 altar. For you must know, here 
m New England, the people, for the most part, 
keep no servants, but perform all the household 
work themselves, with no end of spinning and 
sewing besides. It is the true Arcadia, where you 
find cultivated and refined people busying them- 
selves with the simplest toils. For these people 
are well-read and well-bred, and truly ladies in all 
things. And so my little Marie and I, we feed 
the hens and chickens together, and we search for 
eggs in the hay in the barn. And they have taught 
me to spin at their great wheel, and at a little one 
too, which makes a noise like the humming of a 
bee. 

“ But where am I ? Oh I was telling about the 
romance. Well, so the good priest has proposed 
for my Marie, and the dear little soul has accepted 
him as the nun accepts the veil; for she only kwes 
him filially and religiously. And now they arc. 
going on, in their way, with preparations for the 
wedding. They had what they call ‘ a quilting 


m 


1HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


here the other night, to prepare the bride’s quilt, - 
and all the friends in the neighborhood came; — it 
was very amusing to see. 

“ The morals of this people are so austere, that 
young men and girls are allowed the greatest free- 
dom. They associate and talk freely together, and 
the young men walk home alone with the girls 
after evening parties. And most generally, the 
young people, I am told, arrange their marriages 
among themselves before the consent of the parents 
is asked. This is very strange to us. I must not 
weary you, however, with the details. I watch my 
little romance daily, and will let you hear furthei 
as it progresses. 

“ With a thousand kisses, I am, ever, your loving 

w Virginie.” 



THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


491 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

CONSULTATIONS AND CONFIDENCES. 

Meanwhile, the wedding-preparations were go- 
ing on at the cottage with that consistent vigor 
with which Yankee people always drive matters 
when they know precisely what they are about. 

The wedding-day was definitely fixed for the first 
of August; and each of the two weeks between 
had its particular significance and value precisely 
marked out and arranged in Mrs. Katy ScuddePs 
comprehensive and systematic schemes. 

It was settled that the newly wedded pair were, 
for a while at least, to reside at the cottage. It 
might have been imagined, therefore, that no great 
external changes were in contemplation ; but it is 
astonishing, the amount of discussion, the amount 
of advising, consulting, and running to and fro, 
which can be made to result out of an apparently 
slight change in the relative position of two peo- 
ple in the same house. 

Dr. Hopkins really opened his eyes with calm 
amazement. Good, modest soul ! he had never 


492 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


imagined himself the hero of so much preparatioa 
From morning to night, he heard his name con- 
stantly occurring in busy consultations that seemed 
to be going on between Miss Prissy and Mrs. 
Deacon Twitchel and Mrs. Scudder and Mrs. Jones, 
and quietly wondered what they could have so 
mush more than usual to say about him. For a 
while it seemed to him that the whole house was 
about to be torn to pieces. He was even re- 
quested to step out of his study, one day, into 
which immediately entered, in his absence, two of 
the most vigorous women of the parish, who pro- 
ceeded to uttermost measures, — first pitching every- 
thing into pi, so that the Doctor, who returned 
disconsolately to look for a book, at once gave up 
himself and his system of divinity as entirely lost, 
until assured by one of the ladies, in a conde- 
scending manner, that he knew nothing about the 
matter, and that, if he would return after half a 
day, he would find everything right again, — a 
declaration in which he tried to have unlimited 
faith, and which made him feel the advantage of 
a mind accustomed to believing in mysteries. 
And it is to be remarked, that on his return he 
actually found his table in most perfect order, 
with not a single one of his papers missing ; in 
fact, to his ignorant eye the room looked exactly 
as it did before ; and when Miss Prissy eloquently 
demonstrated to him, that every inch of that paini 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


4i,3 


had been scrubbed, and the windows taken out, 
and washed inside and out, and rinsed through 
three waters, and that the curtains had been taken 
down, and washed, and put through a blue water, 
and starched, and ironed, and put up again, — he 
only innocently wondered, in his ignorance, what 
there was in a man’s being married that made all 
these ceremonies necessary. But the Doctor was 
a wise man, and in cases of difficulty kept his 
mind to himself ; and therefore he only informed 
these energetic practitioners that he was extremely 
obliged to them, accepting it by simple faith, — an 
example which we recommend to all good men in 
similar circumstances. 

The house throughout was subjected to similar 
renovation. Everything in every chest or box was 
vigorously pulled out and hung out on lines in 
the clothes-yard to air ; for when once the spirit 
of enterprise has fairly possessed a group of wom- 
en, it assumes the form of a “ prophetic fury,” 
and carries them beyond themselves. Let not any 
ignorant mortal of the masculine gender, at such 
hours, rashly dare to question the promptings of 
the genius that inspires them. Spite of all tile 
treatises that have lately appeared, to demonstrate 
that there are no particular inherent diversities be 
tween men and women, we hold to the opinion 
that one thorough season of house-cleaning is suf- 
ficient to prove the existence of awful and mys- 


494 


,\IE MIN/STER’S WOOING. 


terious difference between the sexes, and ot subtile 
and reserved forces in the female line, before 
which the lords ot creation can only veil their 
faces with a discreet reverence, as our Doctor has 
done. 

In fact, his whole deportment on the occasion 
was characterized by humility so edifying as really 
to touch the hearts of the whole synod of ma- 
trons ; and Miss Prissy rewarded him by declar- 
ing impressively her opinion, that he was worthy 
to have a voice in the choosing of ihe wedding- 
dress ; and she actually swooped him up, just in 
a very critical part of a distinction between nat- 
ural and moral ability, and conveyed him bodily, 
as fairy sprites knew how to convey the most 
ponderous of mortals, into the best room, where 
three specimens of brocade lay spread out upon 
a table for inspection. 

Mary stood by the side of the table, her pretty 
head bent reflectively downward, her cheek just 
resting upon the tip of one of her fingers, as she 
stood looking thoughtfully through the brocades at 
something deeper that seemed to lie under them; 
and when the Doctor was required to give judg- 
ment on the articles, it was observed by the ma- 
trons that his large blue eyes were resting upon 
Mary, with an expression that almost glorified his 
face ; and it was not until his elbow was repeat- 
edly shaken by Miss Prissy, that he gave a sud* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


495 


der k start, and fixed his attention, as was requested, 
upon the silks. It had been one of Miss Prissy’s 
favorite theories, that “ that dear blessed man had 
taste enough , if he would only give his mind to 
things” ; and, in fact, the Doctor rather verified 
the remark on the present occasion, for he looked 
very conscientiously and soberly at the silks, and 
even handled them cautiously and respectfully 
with his fingers, and listened with grave attention 
to all that Miss Prissy told him of their price and 
properties, and then laid his finger down on one 
whose snow-white ground was embellished with a 
pattern representing Lillies of the valley on a back- 
ground of green leaves. “ This is the one,” he 
said, with an air of decision; and then he looked 
at Mary, and smiled, and a murmur of universal 
approbation broke out. 

“ II a de la delicatessef said Madame de Fron- 
tignac, who had been watching this scene with 
bright, amused eyes, — while a chorus of loud 
acclamations, in which Miss Prissy’s voice took 
the lead, conveyed to the innocent-minded Doctor 
the idea, that in some mysterious way he had dis- 
tinguished himself in the eyes of his feminine 
friends ; whereat he retired to his study slightly 
marvelling, but on the whole well pleased, as men 
generally are when they do better than they ex- 
pect ; and Miss Prissy, turning out all profafiei 
persons from the apartment, held a solemn con- 


496 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


sultation, to which only Mary, Mrs. Scudder, and 
Madame de Frontignac were admitted. For it ia 
to be observed that the latter had risen daily and 
hourly in Miss Prissy’s esteem, since her entrance 
into the cottage ; and she declared, that, if she 
only would give her a few hints, she didn’t be- 
lieve but that she could make that dress look just 
like a Paris one ; and rather intimated that in 
such a case she might almost be ready to resign 
all mortal ambitions. 

The afternoon of this day, just at that cool 
hour when the clock ticks so quietly in a New 
England kitchen, and everything is so clean and 
put away that there seems to be nothing to do 
in the house, Mary sat quietly down in her room 
to hem a ruffle. Everybody had gone out of the 
house on various errands. The Doctor, with im- 
plicit faith, had surrendered himself to Mrs. Scud- 
der and Miss Prissy, to be conveyed up to Newport 
and attend to various appointments in relation tc 
his outer man, which he was informed would be 
indispensable in the forthcoming solemnities. Ma- 
dame de Frontignac had also gone to spend the 
day with some of her Newport friends. And 
Mary, quite well pleased with the placid and or- 
derly stillness which reigned through the house, 
eat pleasantly murmuring a little tune to her sew- 
ing, when suddenly the trip of a very brisk foot 
was heard in the kitchen, and Miss Cerinthy Ann 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


49 ? 


ISvitchel made her appearance at the door, hei 
healthy glowing cheek wearing a still brighter coloi 
from tne exercise of a three-mile walk in a July 
day. 

“ Why, Cerinthy,” said Mary, “ how glad I am 
to see you ! ” 

“ Well,” said Cerinthy, “ I have been meaning 
to come down all this week, but there’s so much 
to do in haying-time, — but to-day I told mother 
I must come. I brought these down,” she said, 
unfolding a dozen snowy damask napkins, “that 
I spun myself, and was thinking of you almost 
all the while I spun them, so I suppose they aren’t 
quite so wicked as they might be.” 

We will observe here, that Cerinthy Ann, in 
virtue of having a high stock of animal spirits 
and great fulness of physical vigor, had very 
small proclivities towards the unseen and spiritual, 
but still always indulged a secret resentment at 
being classed as a sinner above many others, who, 
as church-members, made such professions, and 
were, as she remarked, “ not a bit better than she 
was.” She had always, however, cherished an un- 
bounded veneration for Mary, and had made her 
the confidante of most of her important secrets, 
It soon became very evident that she had come 
with one on her mind now. 

“ Don’t you want to come and sit out in the 
of?” she said, after sitting awnile, twirling her 


498 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


bonnet-strings with the air cf one who has soma- 
thing to say and doesn’t know exactly how to be- 
gin upon it. 

Mary cheerfully gathered up her thread, scissors, 
and ruffling, and the two stepped over the window- 
sill, and soon found themselves seated cozily under 
the boughs of a large apple-tree, whose descending 
branches, meeting the tops of the high grass all 
around, formed a seclusion as perfect as heart could 
desire. 

They sat down, pushing away a place in the 
grass ; and Cerinthy Ann took off her bonnet, and 
threw it among the clover, exhibiting to view her 
black hair, always trimly arranged in shining 
braids, except where some glossy curls fell over 
the rich high color of her cheeks. Something 
appeared to discompose her this afternoon. There 
were those evident signs of a consultation im- 
pending, which, to an experienced eye, are as 
unmistakable as the coming up of a shower in 
summer. 

Cerinthy began by passionately demolishing sev- 
eral heads of clover, remarking, as she did so, that 
she “ didn’t see, for her part, how Mary could keep 
so calm when things were coming so near.” And 
as Mary answered to this only with a quiet smile 
she broke out again: — 

H I don’t see, for my part, how a young girl could 
marry a minister, anyhow ; but then I think you 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


*99 


ire just cut out for it. But what would anybody 
Bay, if I should do such a thing ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Mary, innocently. 
u Well, I suppose everybody would hold up 
their hands ; and yet, if I do say it myself,” — she 
added, coloring, — “ there are not many girls who 
could make a better minister’s wife than I could, 
if I had a mind to try.” 

“ That I am sure of,” said Mary, warmly. 

“ I guess you are the only one that ever thought 
so,” said Cerinthy, giving an impatient toss. 
u There’s father and mother all the while mourn- 
ing over me ; and yet I don’t see but what I do 
pretty much all that is done in the house, and 
they say I am a great comfort in a temporal 
point of view. But, oh, the groanings and the 
sighings that there are over me ! I don’t think it 
is pleasant to know that your best friends are 
thinking such awful things about you, when you 
are working your fingers off to help them. It is 
kind o’ discouraging, but I don’t know what to 
do about it ; ” — and for a few moments Cerinthy 
sat demolishing buttercups, and throwing them up 
in the air till her shiny black head was covered 
with golden flakes, while her cheeks grew redder 
with something that she was going to say next. 

“ Now, Mary, there is that creature. Well, you 
know, he won’t take No ’ for an answer What 
shall 1 do?” 


50 (' THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

“ Suppose, then, you try ‘ Yes,’” said Mary 
rather archly. 

“ Oh, pshaw ! Mary Scudder, you know better 
than that, now. I look like it, don’t I?” 

“ Why, yes,” said Mary, looking at Cerinthy 
deliberately; “on the whole, I think you do.” 

“ Well ! one thing I must say,” said Cerinthy 
— “I can’t see what he finds in me. I think he 
is a thousand times too good for me. Why, you 
have no idea, Mary, how I have plagued him. I 
believe that man really is a Christian ,” she added, 
while something like a penitent tear actually glis- 
tened in those sharp, saucy, black eyes. “Besides,”' 
Bhe added, “ I have told him everything I could 
think of to discourage him. I told him that I 
had a bad temper, and didn’t believe the doctrines, 
and couldn’t promise that I ever should ; and after 
all, that creature keeps right on, and I don’t know 
what to tell him.” 

“ Well,” said Mary, mildly, “ do you think you 
really love him ? ” 

“ Love him ? ” said Cerinthy, giving a great 
flounce, “to be sure I don’t! Catch me loving 
any man ! I told him last night I didn’t : but it 
didn’t do a bit of good. I used to think that 
man was bashful, but T declare I have altered my 
mind ; he will talk and talk till I don’t know 
what to do. I tell you, Mary, he talks beautifully 
too, sometimes.” 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


501 


Here Cerinthy turned quickly away, and began 
reaching passionately after clover-heads. After a 
few moments, she resumed: — 

u The fact is, Mary, that man needs somebody 
to take care of him ; for he never thinks of him- 
self. They say he has got the consumption ; but 
he hasn’t, any more than I have. It is just the 
way he neglects himself, — preaching, talking, and 
visiting ; nobody to take care of him, and see to 
his clothes, and nurse him up when he gets a lit- 
tle hoarse and run down. Well, I suppose if I 
am unregenerate, I do know how to keep things 
in order ; and if I should keep such a man’s soul 
in his body, I should be doing some good in the 
world ; because, if ministers don’t live, of course 
they can’t convert anybody. Just think of his 
saying that I could be a comfort to him! I told 
him that it was perfectly ridiculous. 4 And besides,’ 
says I, 4 what will everybody think ? ’ I thought 
that I had really talked him out of the notion of 
it last night ; but there he was in again this 
morning, and told me he had derived great en- 
couragement from what I had said. Well, the poor 
man really is lonesome, — his mother’s dead, and 
he hasn’t any sisters. I asked him why he didn’t 
go and take Miss Olladme Slocum : everybody 
Bays she would make a first-rate minister’s wife.” 

44 Well, and what did he say to that ? ” said 
Mary. 


502 


THE MimSIER’S WOOINU. 


“Well, something really silly, — about mj looks,” 
said Cerinthy, looking down. 

Mary looked up, and remarked the shining black 
hair, the long dark lashes lying down over the 
glowing cheek, where two arch dimples were nest* 
ling, and said, quietly, — 

“ Probably he is a man of taste, Cerinthy ; I 
advise you to leave the matter entirely to his judg- 
ment.” 

“ You don’t, really, Mary ! ” said the damsel, 
looking up. “ Don’t you think it would injure him , 
if I should ? ” 

“ I think not, materially,” said Mary. 

w Well,” said Cerinthy, rising, “ the men will be 
coming home from the mowing, before I get home, 
and want their supper. Mother has got one of 
her headaches on this afternoon, so I can’t stop 
any longer. There isn’t a soul in the house knows 
where anything is, when I am gone. If I should 
ever take it into my head to go off, I don’t know 
what would become of father and mother. I was 
telling mother, the other day, that I thought un- 
regenerate folks were of some use in this world, 
any way.” 

“ Does your mother know anything about it ? ” 
said Mary. 

“ Oh, as to mother, I believe she has been hop- 
ing and praying about it these three months. She 
thinks that I am such a desperate case, it is the 


THE MINISTER’S >V001NG. 


60S 


only way I am to be brought in. as she calls it 
That’s what set me against him at first; but the 
fact is, if girls will let a man argue with them, 
he always contrives to get the best of it. I am 
kind of provoked about it, too. But, mercy on 
us ! he is so meek, there is no use of getting pro- 
voked at him. Well, I guess I will go home and 
think about it.” 

As she turned to go, she looked really pretty. 
Her long lashes were wet with a twinkling mois- 
ture, like meadow-grass after a shower ; and there 
was a softened, childlike expression stealing over 
the careless gayety of her face. 

Mary put her arms round her with a gentle ca- 
ressing movement, which the other returned with 
a. hearty embrace. They stood locked in each 
other’s arms, — the glowing, vigorous, strong-hearted 
girl, with that pale, spiritual face resting on her 
breast, as when the morning, songful and radiant, 
clasps the pale silver moon to her glowing bo- 
som. 

“ Look hero now, Mary,” said Cerinthy ; “ your 
folks are all gone. You may as well walk with 
me. It’s pleasant now.” 

u Yes, I will,” said Mary ; “ wait a minute, till 
l get my bonnet.” 

In a few moments the two girls were walking 
together in one of those little pasture foot-tracks 
which run so cozily among huckleberry and juni- 


504 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


per bushes, while Cerinthv eagerly pursued the 
subject she could not leave thinking of. Their 
path now wound over high ground that overlooked 
the distant sea, now lost itself in little copses of 
cedar and pitch-pine and now there came on the 
air the pleasant breath of new hay, which mowers 
were harvesting in adjoining meadows. 

They walked on and on, as girls will; because 
when a young lady has once fairly launched intc 
the enterprise of telling another all that he said, 
and just how he looked, for the last three months, 
walks are apt to be indefinitely extended. 

Mary was, besides, one of the most seductive 
little confidantes in the world. She was so pure 
from selfishness, so heartily and innocently inter- 
ested in what another was telling her, that people 
in talking with her found the subject constantly in- 
creasing in interest, — although, if they really had 
been called upon afterwards to state the exact 
portion in words which she added to the conver- 
sation, they would have been surprised to find it 
bo small. 

In fact, before Cerinthy Ann had quite finished 
her confessions, they were more than a mile from 
the cottage, and Mary began to think of return- 
ing, saying that her mother would wonder where 
she was, when she came home. 


THE MINISTER'S WOOINQ 


A05 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

OLD LOVE AND NEW DUTY. 

The sun was just setting, and the who.e ail 
and sea seemed flooded with rosy rays. Even the 
crags and rocks of the sea-shore took purple and 
lilac tints, and savins and junipers, had a painter 
been required to represent them, would have been 
found not without a suffusion of the same tints. 
And through the tremulous rosy sea of the upper 
air, the silver full-moon looked out like some calm 
superior presence which waits only for the flush 
of a temporary excitement to die away, to make 
its tranquillizing influence felt. 

Mary, as she walked homeward with this dreamy 
light around her, moved with a slower step than 
when borne along by the vigorous arm and deter- 
mined motion of her young friend. 

It is said that a musical sound uttered with 
decision by one instrument always makes the cor- 
responding chord of another vibrate; and Mary 
felt, as she left her positive but warm-hearted 
friend, a plaintive vibration of something in her 
own self, of which she was conscious her calm 


5of> THE MINISTERS WOOLNO. 

friendship for her future husband had no pan 
She fell into one of those reveries which she 
thought she had forever forbidden to herself, and 
there rose before her mind the picture of a mar- 
riage-ceremony, — but the eyes of the bridegroom 
were dark, and his curls were clustering in raven 
ringlets, and her hand throbbed in his as it had 
never throbbed in any other. 

It was just as she was coming out of a little 
grove of cedars, where the high land overlooks 
the sea, and the dream which came to her over 
came her with a vague and yearning sense of 
pain. Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her 
and some one said, “ Mary i ’’ It was spoken in 
a choked voice, as one speaks in the crises o-t a 
great emotion ; and she turr ed and saw those 
very eyes, that very hair, yes, and the cold little 
hand throbbed with that very throb in that strong, 
living, manly hand ; and, whether in the body or 
out of the body God knoweth, she felt herself 
borne in those arms, and words that spoke them- 
selves in her inner heart, words profaned by being 
repeated, were on her ear. 

“ Oh! is this a dream? is this a dream? James’ 
are we in heaven ? Oh, I have lived through such 
an agony ! I have been so worn out ! Oh, I 
thought you never would come ! ” And then the 
eyes closed, and heaven and earth faded away U» 
gether in a trance of blissful rest. 


THE MINISTER S WOOING. 


507 


But it was no dream ; for an hour later you 
might have seen a manly form sitting in that self- 
same place, bearing in his arms a pale figure 
which he cherished as tenderly as a mother her 
babe. And they were talking together, — talking 
In low tones ; and in all this wide universe neither 
of them knew or felt anything but the great joy 
of being thus side by side. 

They spoke of love mightier than death, which 
many waters cannot quench. They spoke of 
yearnings, each for the other, — of longing prayers, 

— of hopes deferred, — and then of this great joy, 

— for one had hardly yet returned to the visible 
world. 

Scarce wakened from deadly faintness, she had 
not come back fully to the realm of life, — only 
to that of love, — to love which death cannot 
quench. And therefore it was, that, without 
knowing that she spoke, she had said all, and 
compressed the history of those three years into 
one hour. 

But at last, thoughtful of her health, provident 
of her weakness, he rose up and passed his arm 
around her to convey her home. And as he did 
so, he spoke one word that broke the whole 
charm. 

u You will allow me, Mary, the right of a 
future husband, to watch over your life and 
health.” 


50 & 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


Then came back the visible world, — recollec* 
lion, consciousness, and the great battle of duty 
— and Mary drew away a little, and said, — 

“ Oh, James, you are too late ! that can never 
be!” 

He drew back from her. 

“ Mary, are you married ? ” 

u Before (Jod, I am,” she said. w My word is 
pledged. I cannot retract it. I have suffered a 
good man to place his whole faith upon it, — a 
man who loves me with his whole soul.” 

“ But, Mary, you do not love him . That is im- 
possible!” said James, holding her off from him, 
and looking at her with an agonized eagerness. 

After what you have just said, it is not possi- 
ble.” 

“ Oh, James ! I am sure I don’t know what I 
have said, — it was all so sudden, and I didn’t 
know what I was saying, — but things that I 
must never say again. The day is fixed for next 
week. It is all the same as if you had found me 
his wife.” 

“ Not quite,” said James, his voice cutting the 
air with a decided manly ring. “ I have some 
words to say to that yet.” 

u Oh, James, will you be selfish ? will you tempt 
me to do a mean, dishonorable thing ? to be false 
o my word deliberately given ? ” 

“ But,” said James, eagerly, “ you know, Mary 


'I HE MINISTER'S WOOING 


509 


jou never would have given it, if you had known 
that I was living.” 

“That is true, James; but I did give it I 
have suffered him to build all his hopes of life 
upon it. I beg you not to tempt me, — help me 
to do right ! ” 

“ But, Mary, did you not get my letter ? ” 

“ Your letter ? ” 

“ Yes, — that long letter that I wrote you.” 

“ I never got any letter, James.” 

u Strange ! ” he said. w No wonder it seems 
sudden to you ! ” 

“ Have you seen your mother ? ” said Mary, who 
was conscious this moment only of a dizzy instinct 
to turn the conversation from where she felt too 
weak to bear it. 

“ No ; do you suppose I should see anybody 
before you?” 

“ Oh, then, you must go to her ! ” said Mary 
K Oh, James, you don’t know how she has suf- 
fered ! ” 

They were drawing near to the cottage-gate. 

“ Do, pray ! ” said Mary. “ Go, hurry to youi 
mother! Don’t be too sudden, either, for she’s 
very weak ; she is almost worn out with sorrow. 
Go, my dear brother! Dear you always will be 
to me.” 

James helped her into the house, and they 
parted. Ail the house was yet still. The open 


510 


THE MLNISTEK’S WOO 1N«. 


kitchen-door let in a sober square of moonlight 
on the floor. The very stir of the leaves on tht 
trees could be heard. Mary went into her little 
room, and threw herself upon the bed, weak, 
weary, yet happy, — for deep and high above all 
other feelings was the great relief that he was 
living still. After a little while she heard the rat- 
tling of the wagon, and then the quick patter of 
Miss Prissy’s feet, and her mother’s considerate 
tones, and the Doctor’s grave voice, — and quite 
unexpectedly to herself, she was shocked to find 
herself turning with an inward shudder from the 
idea of meeting him. “ How very wicked ! ” she 
thought, — “ how ungrateful ! ” — and she prayed 
that God would give her strength to check the 
first rising of such feelings. 

Then there was her mother, so ignorant and in- 
nocent, busy putting away baskets of things that 
she had bought in provision for the wedding-cere- 
mony. 

Mary almost felt as if she had a guilty secret. 
But when she looked back upon the last two 
hours, she felt no wish to take them back again 
Two little hours of joy and rest they had been 
— so pure, so perfect! she thought God must have 
given them to her as a keepsake to remind hex 
of His love, and to strengthen her in the way ol 
duty. 

Some will, perhaps, think it an unnatural thing 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


511 


that Mary should have regarded her pledge to the 
Doctor as of so absolute and binding force ; but 
they must remember the rigidity of her education. 
Self-denial and self-sacrifice had been the daily 
bread of her life. Every prayer, hymn, and ser- 
mon, from her childhood, had warned her to dis- 
trust her inclinations, and regard her feelings as 
traitors. In particular had she been brought up 
to regard the sacredness of a promise with a su- 
perstitious tenacity ; aiid in this case the promise 
involved so deeply the happiness of a friend whom 
she had loved and revered all her life, that she 
never thought of any way of escape from it. She 
had been taught that there was no feeling so 

strong but that it might be immediately repressed 
at the call of duty ; and if the thought arose to her 
of this great love to another, she immediately an- 
swered it by saying, “ How would it have been 

if I had been married ? As I could have over- 

come then, so I can now.” 

Mrs. Scudder came into her room with a can 
die in her hand, and Mary, accustomed to read 
the expression of her mother’s face, saw at a 

glance a visible discomposure there. She held th 
light so that it shone upon Mary’s face. 
u Are you asleep ? ” she said. 

“ No, mother.” 
u Are you unwell ? ” 

“ No, mother, — only a little tired.” 


512 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Mrs. Soudder set down the candle, and shut the 
door, and. after a moment’s hesitation, said, — 

“ My daughter, I have some news to tell you 
which I want you to prepare your mind for. Keep 
yourself quite quiet.” 

“ Oh, mother ! ” said Mary, stretching out hei 
hands towards her, “ I know it. James has come 
home.” 

“ How did you hear ? ” said her mother, with 
astonishment. 

“ I have seen him, mother.” 

Mrs. Scudder’s countenance fell. 

“ Where?” 

“ I went to walk home with Cerinthy Twitchel 
and as I was coming back he came up behind 
me, just at Savin Rock.” 

Mrs. Scudder sat down on the bed and took 
her daughter’s hand. 

“ I trust, my dear child,” she said. She stopped. 

“ I think I know what you are going to say, 
mother. It is a great joy, and a great relief; but 
of course 1 shall be true to my engagement with 
the Doctor.”. 

Mrs. Scudder’s face brightened 

“ That is my own daughter ! I might have 
known that you would do so. You would not 
certainly, so cruelly disappoint a noble man who 
has set his whole faith upon you.” 

“ No, mother, I shall not disappoint him 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 513 

t told James that I should be true to my 
Word.” 

“ He will probably see the justice of it,” said 
Mrs. Scudder, in that eaiy tone with which el- 
derly people are apt to dispose of the feelings of 
young persons. “ Perhaps it may be something 
of a trial at first.” 

Mary looked at her mother with incredulous 
blue eyes. The idea that feelings which made 
her hold her breath when she thought of them 
could be so summarily disposed of! She turned 
her face wearily to the wall, with a deep sigh, 
and said, — 

u After all, mother, it is mercy enough and com- 
fort enough to think that he is living. Poor 
Cousin Ellen, too, — what a relief to her! It is 
like life from the dead. Oh, I shall be happy 
enough ; no fear of that ! ” 

“ And you know,” said Mrs. Scudder, “ that 
there has never existed any engagement ol any 
kind between you and James. He had no right 
to found any expectations on anything you ever 
told him.” 

“ That is true also, mother,” said Mary. " 1 haa 
never thought of such a thing as marriage, in re- 
lation to James.” 

“ Of course,” pursued Mrs. S 3udder, “ he wifi 
always be to you as a near frienL” 

Mary assented. 


514 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

“ There is but a week now, before your wed- 
ding,” continued Mrs. Scudder ; “ and I think 
Cousin James, if he is reasonable, will see the 
propriety of your mind being kept as quiet as 
possible. I heard the news this afternoon in 
town,” pursued Mrs. Scudder, u from Captain 
Staunton, and, by a curious coincidence, I re- 
ceived from him this letter from James, which 
came from New York by post. The brig that 
brought it must have been delayed out of the 
harbor.” 

“ Oh, please, mother, give it to me!” said Mary, 
rising up with animation; “he mentioned having 
Bent me one.” 

“ Perhaps you had better wait till morning,” 
said Mrs. Scudder ; “ you are tired and excited.” 

“ Oh, mother, I think I shall be more composed 
when I know all that is in it,” said Mary, still 
stretching out her hand. 

“ Well, my daughter, you are the best judge/ 
said Mrs. Scudder; and she set down the candle 
on the table, and left Mary alone. 

It was a very thick letter of many pages, dat* 
ed in Canton, and ran as follows: — 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


516 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

JACOB’S VOW. 

•My dearest Mary: — 

“ I have lived through many wonderful scenes 
since I saw you last. My life has been so ad- 
venturous, that I scarcely know myself when 1 
think of it. But it is not of that I am going 
now to write. I have written all that to mother, 
and she will show it to you. But since I parted 
from you, there has been another history going on 
within me ; and that is what I wish to make you 
understand, if I can. 

“ It seems to me that I have been a changed 
man from that afternoon when I came to your 
window, and where we parted. I have never for- 
got how you looked then, nor what you said. 
Nothing in my life ever had such an effect upon 
me. I thought that I loved you before ; but 1 
went away feeling that love was something so 
deep and high and sacred, that I was not worthy 
to name it to you. I cannot think of the man in 
the world who is worthy of what you said you 
felt for me. 


516 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ From that hour there was a new purpose in 
my soul, — a purpose which has led me upward 
ever since. I thought to myself in this way: 

There is some secret source from whence this 
inner life springs,’ — and I knew that it was con- 
nected with the Bible which you gave me; and 
so I thought I would read it carefully and delib- 
erately, to see what I could make of it. 

“ I began with the beginning. It impressed me 
with a sense of something quaint and strange, — 
something rather fragmentary ; and yet there were 
spots all along that went right to the heart of a 
man who had to deal with life and things as I 
did. Now I must say that the Doctor’s preaching, 
as I told you, never impressed me much in any 
way. I could not make any connection between 
it and the men I had to manage and the things 
I had to do in my daily life. But there were 
things in the Bible that struck me otherwise. 
There was one passage in particular, and that was 
where Jacob started off from all his friends to go 
off and seek his fortune in a strange country, and 
laid down to sleep all alone in the field, with 
only a stone for his pillow. It seemed to me ex- 
actly the image of what every young man is like, 
when he leaves his home and goes out to shift 
for himself in this hard world. I tell you, Mary, 
that one man alone on the great ocean of life 
feels himself a very weak thing. We are held np 


THK MINISTER’S WOOING. 


517 


by each other more than we know till we go off 
by ourselves into this great experiment. Well, 
there he was as lonesome as I upon the deck of 
my ship. And so lying with the stone under hia 
head, he saw a ladder in his sleep between him 
and heaven, and angels going up and down. That 
was a sight which came to the very point of his 
necessities. He saw that there was a way be- 
tween him and God, and that there were those 
above who did care for him, and who could come 
to him to help him. Well, so the next morning 
he got up, and set up the stone to mark the 
place ; and it says Jacob vowed a vow, saying, 
If God will be with me, and will keep me in 
this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat 
and raiment to put on, so that I come again to 
my father’s house in peace, then shall the Lord be 
my God.’ Now there was something that looked 
to me like a tangible foundation to begin upon. 

“ If I understand Dr. Hopkins, I believe he 
would have called that all selfishness. At first 
sight it does look a little so ; but then I thought 
of it in this way : 4 Here he was all alone. God 
was entirely invisible to him ; and how could he 
feel certain that He really existed, unless he could 
come into some kind of connection with Him? the 
point that he wanted to be sure of, more than 
merely to know that there was a God who made 
the vorld ; — he wanted to know whetoer He cared 


THt MINISTER’S WOOING. 


518 

anything about men, and would do anything to 
help them. And so, in fact, it was saying, If 
there is a God who interests Himself at all in 
me, and will be my Friend and Protector, I will 
obey Kim, so far as I can find out His will.’ 

“ I thought to myself, 1 This is the great exper- 
iment, and I will try it.’ I made in my heart 
exactly the same resolution, and just quietly re- 
Bolved to assume for a while as a fact that there 
vms such a God, and, whenever I came to a place 
where I could not help myself, just to ask His 
help honestly in .so many words, and see what 
would come of it. 

“ Well, as I went on reading through the Old 
Testament, I was more and more convinced that 
all the men of those times had tried this experi- 
ment, and found that it would bear them ; and in 
fact, I did begin to find, in my own experience, a 
great many things happening so remarkably that 
I could not but think that Somebody did attend 
even to my prayers, — I began to feel a trem- 
bling faith that Somebody was guiding me, and 
that the events of my life were not happening 
by accident, but working themselves out by His 
will. 

K Well, as I went on in this way, there were 
other and higher thoughts kept rising in my mind 
I wanted to be better than I was. I had a sense 
of a Me much nobler anl purer than anythiug J 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


519 


had evei lived, that 1 wanted to come up to. But 
in the world of men, as I found it, such feelings 
are always laughed down as romantic, and im- 
practicable, and impossible. But about this time 
I began to read the New Testament, and then 
the idea came to me, that the same Power that 
helped me in the lower sphere of life would help 
me carry out those higher aspirations. Perhaps 
the Gospels would not have interested me so 
much, if I had begun with them first; but my 
Old Testament life seemed to have schooled me, 
and brought me to a place where I wanted some- 
thing higher ; and I began to notice that my 
prayers now were more that I might be noble, 
and patient, and self-denying, and constant in my 
duty, than for any other kind of help. And then 
I understood what met me in the very first of 
Matthew : ‘ Thou shalt call his name Jesus, for he 
shall save his people from their sins/ 

“ I began now to live a new life, — a life in 
which I felt myself coming into sympathy with 
you; for, Mary, when I began to read the Gos- 
pels, I took knowledge of you, that you had been 
with Jesus. 

“ The crisis of my life was that dreadful night 
of the shipwreck. It was as dreadful as the Day 
of Judgment. No words of mine can describe to 
you what T felt when I knew that our ruddei was 
gone, and saw those hopeless rocks before us 


52 > 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


What I felt for our poor men ! But, in the mids* 
of it all, the words came into my mind, 1 And 
Jesus was in the hinder part of the ship asleep 
on a pillow,’ and at once I felt He was there; 
and v/'hen the ship struck I was only conscious of 
an intense going out of my soul to Him, like 
Peter’s when he threw himself from the ship to 
meet Him in the waters. 

“ I will not recapitulate what I have already 
written, — the wonderful manner in which I was 
saved, and in which friends and help and pros- 
perity and worldly success came to me again, after 
life had seemed all lost; but now I am ready to 
return to my country, and I feel as Jacob did 
when he said, 4 With my staff I passed over this 
Jordan, and now I am become two bands.’ 

44 I do not need any arguments now to convince 
me that the Bible is from above. There is a great 
deal in it that I cannot understand, a great deal 
that seems to me inexplicable ; but all I can say 
is, that I have tried its directions, and find that 
in my case they do work, — that it is a book that 
I can live by ; and that is enough for me. 

44 And now, Mary, I am coming home again, 
quite another man from what I went out, — with 
a whole new world of thought and feeling in my 
heart, and a new purpose, by which, please God 
I mean to shape my life. All this, under God, I 
i>we to you ; and if you will let me devote in* 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


521 


whole life to you, it will be a small return for 
what you have done for me. 

“ You know I left you wholly free. Others 
must have seen your loveliness, and felt your 
worth ; and you may have learnt to love some 
oetter man than me. But I know not what hope 
tells me that this will not be; and I shall find 
true what the Bible says of love, that 1 many wa- 
ters cannot quench it, nor floods drown.’ In any 
case, I shall be always, from my very heart, yours, 
and yours only. 

“James Marvyn” 

Mary rose, after reading this letter, rapt into a 
divine state of exaltation, — the pure joy, in con- 
templating an infinite good to another, in which 
the question of self was utterly forgotten. 

He was, then, what she had always hoped and 
prayed he would be, and she pressed the thought 
triumphantly to her heart. He was that true and 
victorious man, that Christian able to subdue life, 
and to show, in a perfect and healthy manly na- 
ture, a reflection of the image of the superhuman 
excellence. Her prayers that night were aspira- 
tions and praises, and she felt how possible it 
might be so to appropriate the good and the joy 
and the nobleness of others as to have in them 
an eternal and satisfying treasure. And with this 
came the dearer thought, that she, in her weakness 
and solitude, had been permitted to put her hand 


522 


THE MINISTER’S WuOING. 


to the beginning of a work so noble. The con 
sciousness of good done to an immortal spirit is 
wealth that neither life nor death can take away. 

And so, having prayed, she lay down to + hat 
sleep which God giveth to his beloved. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


ASA 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE QUESTION OF DUTY. 

It is a hard condition of our existence here, 
that every exaltation must have its depression. 
God will not let us have heaven here below, but 
only such glimpses and faint showings as parents 
sometimes give to children, when they show them 
beforehand the jewelry and pictures and stores of 
rare and curious treasures which they hold for the 
possession of their riper years. So it very often 
happens that the man who has gone to bed an 
angel, feeling as if all sin were forever vanquished, 
and he himself immutably grounded in love, may 
wake the next morning with a sick-headache and, 
if he be not careful, may scold about his break- 
fast like a miserable sinner. 

We will not say that our dear little Mary rose 
in this condition next morning, — for, although she 
had the headache, she had one of those natures in 
which, somehow or other, the combative element 
Beems to be left out, so that no one ever knew 
ner to speak a fretful word. But still, as wer have 


&S4 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

observed, she had the headache and the depres 
sion, — and there came the slow, creeping sense 
of waking up, through all her heart and soul, of 
a thousand, thousand things that could be said 
only to one person, and that person one that 
it would be temptation and danger to say them 
to. 

She came out of her room to her morning work 
with a face resolved and calm, but expressive of 
languor, with slight signs of some inward strug* 
gle. 

Madame de Frontignac, who had already heard 
the intelligence, threw two or three of her bright 
glances upon her at breakfast, and at once divined 
how the matter stood. She was of a nature so 
delicately sensitive to the most refined shades of 
honor, that she apprehended at once that there 
must be a conflict, — though, judging by her own 
impulsive nature, she made no doubt that all would 
at once go down before the mighty force of re- 
awakened love. 

After breakfast she would insist upon following 
Mary about through all her avocations. She pos- 
sessed herself of a towel, and would wipe the 
teacups and saucers, while Mary washed. She 
clinked the glasses, and rattled the cups and 
spoons, and stepped about as briskly as if she 
had two or three breezes to carry her train, and 
chattered half English and half French, for the 


THE MINISTER’S W00INO. 


525 


sake of bringing into Mary’s cheek the shy, slow 
dimples that she liked to watch. But still Mrs. 
Scudder was around, with an air as provident and 
forbidding as that of a sitting hen who watches 
her nest; nor was it till after all things had been 
cleared away in the house, and Mary had gone 
up into her little attic to spin, that the long- 
eought opportunity came of diving to the bottom 
of this mystery. 

li Enfin , Marie , nous void ! Are you not going 
to tell me anything, when I have turned my heart 
out to you like a bag ? Chere enfant ! how happy 
you must be!” she said, embracing her. 

“ Yes, I am very happy,” said Mary, with calm 
gravity. 

“ Very happy ! ” said Madame de Frontignac, 
mimicking her manner. “ Is that the way you 
American girls show it, when you are very happy ? 
Come, come, ma belle ! tell little Virginie some- 
thing. Thou hast seen this hero, this wandering 
Ulysses. He has come back at last ; the tapestry 
will not be quite as long as Penelope’s ? Speak 
to me of him. Has he beautiful black eyes, and 
hair that curls like a grape-vine ? Tell me, ma 
belle ! ” 

“ I only saw' him a little while,” said Mary, 
u and I felt a great deal more than I suw. He 
could not have been any clearer to me than he 
always has been in my mind.” 


526 


THE MINISTER’S WOUiiNO. 


u But I think,” said Madame de Frontignae 
seating Mary, as was her wont, and sitting down 
at her feet,— “I think you are a little triste about 
this. Very likely you pity the good priest. It is 
sad for him ; but a good priest has the Church 
for his bride, you know.” 

“ You do not think,” said Mary, speaking seri- 
ously, “that I shall break my promise given before 
God to this good man ? ” 

“ Mon Dieu , mon enfant ! you do not moan to 
inarry the priest, after all ? Quelle idee ! ” 

“ But I promised him,” said Mary. 

Madame de Frontignae threw up her hands with 
an expression of vexation. 

“ What a pity, my little one, you are not in 
the True Church ! Any good priest could dis- 
pense you from that.” 

“ I do not believe,” said Mary, “ in any earthly 
power that can dispense us from solemn obliga- 
tions which we have assumed before God, and on 
which we have suffered others to build the most 
precious hopes. If James had won the affections 
of some girl, thinking as I do, I should not think 
it right for him to leave her and come to me. 
The Bible says, that the just man is ‘ he that 
rvweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.’ ” 

“ C'est le sublime de devoir ! ” said Madame da 
Frontignae, who, with the airy frailty of her race 
uever lost her appreciation of the fine points o. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


5 27 


anything that went on under her eyes. But, nev- 
ertheless, she was inwardly resolved, that, pictu- 
resque as this K sublime of duty ” was, it must not 
be allowed to pass beyond the limits of a fine art, 
and so she recommenced. 

“ Mats c'est absurde. This beautiful young man, 
with his black eyes, and his curls, — a real hero, 

— a Theseus, Mary, — just come home from killing 
a Minotaur, — and loves you with his whole heart 

— and this dreadful promise! Why, haven’t you 
any sort of people in your Church that can un- 
bind you from promises ? I should think the good 
priest himself would do it ! ” 

“ Perhaps he would,” said Mary, “ if I should 
ask him ; but that would be equivalent to a breach 
of it. Of course, no man would marry a woman 
that asked to be dispensed.” 

“ You are an angel of delicacy, my child ; c'cst 
admirable ! but, after all, Mary, this is not well. 
Listen now to me. You are a very sweet saint, 
and very strong in goodness. I think you must 
have a very strong angel that takes care of you. 
But think, chere enfant , — think what it is to marry 
>ne man, while you love another!” 

“ But I love the Doctor,” said Mary, evasively. 

“ Love ! ” said Madame de Frontignac. “ Oh, 
Marie ! you may love him veil, but you arid 1 
both know that there is something deeper than 
that. What will you do with this young man ? 


528 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Must he move away from this place, and not be 
with his poor mother any more ? Or can you see 
him, and hear him, and be with him, after your 
marriage, and not feel that you love him more 
than your husband?” 

“ I should hope that God would help me to feel 
right,” said Mary. 

“ I am very much afraid He will not, ma chere. 
I asked Him a great many times to help me , 
when I found how wrong it all was; and He did 
uot. You remember what you told me the other 
day, — that, if I would do right, I must not see 
that man any more. You will have to ask him 
to go away from this place; you can never see 
him; for this love will never die till you die; — 
that you may be sure of. Is it wise ? is it right, 
dear little one ? Must he leave his home forever 
for you ? or must you struggle always, and grow 
whiter and whiter, and fall away into heaven, like 
the moon this morning, and nobody know what is 
the matter? People will say you have the liver- 
complaint, or the consumption, or something. No- 
body ever knows what we women die of.” 

Poor Mary’s conscience was fairly posed. This 
appeal struck upon her sense of right as having 
its grounds. She felt inexpressibly confused and 
distressed. 

“ Oh, I wish somebody would tell me exactly 
what is right ! ” she said. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


529 


44 Well, 1 will,” said Madame de Frontigiiac. 
M Go down to the dear priest, and tell him the 
whole truth. My dear child, do you think, if he 
should ever find it out after your marriage, he 
would think you used him right?” 

u And yet mother does not think so ; mother 
does not wish me to tell him.” 

w Pauvrette , toujours les meres ! Yes, it is always 
the mothers that stand in the way of the lovers. 
Why cannot she marry the priest herself?” she 
said between her teeth, and then looked up, 
startled and guilty, to see if Mary had heard 
her. 

u I cannot ,” said Mary, — “I cannot go against 
my conscience, and my mother, and my best 
friend.” 

At this moment, the conference was cut short 
by Mrs. Scudder’s provident footsteps on the gar- 
ret-stairs. A vague suspicion of something French 
had haunted her during her dairy-work, and she 
resolved to come and put a stop to the inter- 
riew, by telling Mary that Miss Prissy wanted 
ier to come and be measured for the skirt of her 
dress. 

Mrs. Scudder, by the use of that sixth sense 
peculiar to mothers, had divined that there had 
been some agitating conference, and, had she been 
questioned about it, her guesses as to what it 
might have been would probably ha\e given no 
2 . 


bSU THE MINIS TEK’S W00INO. 

bad resume of the real state oi the case. She 
was inwardly resolved that there should be no 
more such for the present, and kept Mary em- 
ployed about various matters relating to the 
dresses, so scrupulously that there was no op- 
portunity for anything more of the sort that day 

I a the evening James Marvyn came down, and 
was welcomed with the greatest demonstrations 
or joy by all but Mary, who sat distant and em- 
barrassed, after the first salutations had passed. 

The Doctor was innocently paternal; but we 
fear that on the part of the young man there 
was small reciprocation of the sentiments he ex- 
pressed. 

Miss Prissy, indeed, had had her heart some- 
what touched, as good little women’s hearts are apt 
to be by a true love-story, and had hinted some- 
thing of her feelings to Mrs. Scudder, in a man- 
ner which brought such a severe rejoinder as quite 
humbled and abashed her, so that she coweringly 
took refuge under her former declaration, that, “ to 
be sure, there couldn’t be any man in the world 
better worthy of Mary than the Doctor,” while 
still at her heart she was possessed with thai 
troublesome preference for unworthy people which 
stands in the way of so many excellent things 
But she went on vigorously sewing on the wed 
ding-dress, and pursing up her small mouth into 
the most perfect and guarded expression of non 


THE MINIS! EB’b WOOING. 


5JI 


committal ; though she said afterwards, “ it went 
to her heart to see how that poor young man did 
look, sitting there just as noble and as handsome 
as a picture. She didn’t see, for her part, how 
anybody’s heart could stand it ; though, to be sure 
as Miss Scudder said, the poor Doctor ought to 
be thought about, dear blessed man! What a 
pity it was things would turn out so! Not that 
it was a pity that Jim came home, — that was a 
great providence, — but a pity they hadn’t known 
about it sooner. Well, for her part, she didn’t 
pretend to say ; the path of duty did have a great 
many hard places in it.” 

As for James, during his interview at the cot- 
tage, he waited and tried in vain for one mo- 
ment’s private conversation. Mrs. Scudder was 
immovable in her motherly kindness, sitting there, 
smiling and chatting with him, but never stirring 
from her place by Mary. 

Madame de Frontignac was out of all patience, 
and determined, in her small way, to do something 
to discompose the fixed state of things. So, re- 
treating to her room, she contrived, in very des 
peration, to upset and break a water-pitcher, 
shrieking violently in French and English at the 
deluge which came upon the sanded floor and the 
little piece of carpet by the bedside. 

What housekeeper’s instincts are pioo f against 
the crash of breaking china? 


532 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Mrs. Scudder fled from her seat, followed by 
Miss Prissy. 

“ Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro,’ 
while Mary sat quiet as a statue, bending over 
her sewing, and James, knowing that it must be 
now or never, was, like a flash, in the empty chair 
by her side, with his black moustache very near 
to the bent brown head. 

“ Mary,” he said, “ you must let me see you 
once more. All is not said, is it? Just hear me, 

— hear me once alone!” 

“ Oh, James, I am too weak! — I dare not! — I 
am afraid of myself ! ” 

“ You think,” he said, “ that you must take this 
course, because it is right. But is it right? Is 
it right to marry one man, when you love another 
better ? I don’t put this to your inclination, Mary, 

— I know it would be of no use, — I put it to 
vour conscience.” 

“ Oh, I was never so perplexed before ! ” said 
Mary. “ I don’t know what I do think. I must 
have time to reflect. And you, — oh, James ! — 
you must let me do right! There will never be 
any happiness for me, if I do wrong, — nor for 
you, either.” 

All this while the sounds of running and hurry 
.ng in Madame de Frontignac’s room had been 
unintermitted ; and Miss Prissy, not without some 
glimmerings ol perception, was holding tight on 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


533 


to Mis Scudder’s gown, detailing to her a most 
capital receipt for mending broken china, the his- 
tory of which she traced regularly through all the 
families in which she had ever worked, varying 
the details with small items of family history, and 
little incidents as to the births, marriages, and 
deaths of different people for whom it had been 
employed, with all the particulars of how, where, 
and when, so that the time of James for conver 
sation was by this means indefinitely extended. 

“ Now,” he said to Mary, “ let me propose one 
thing. Let me go to the Doctor, and tell him the 
truth.” 

“James, it does not seem to me that I can. A 
friend who has been so considerate, so kind, so 
self-sacrificing and disinterested, and whom I have 
allowed to go on with this implicit faith in me 
so long. Should you, James, think of yourself 
only ? ” 

“ I do not, I trust, think of myself only,” said 
James ; “ I hope that I am calm enough, and have 
a heart to think for others. But, I ask you, is it 
loing right to him to let him marry you in igno- 
rance of the state of your feelings? Is it a kind- 
ness to a good and noble man to give yourself to 
nim only seemingly, when the best and noblest 
part of your affections is gone wholly beyond your 
control ? I am quite sure of that , Mary. I know 
vou do love him very well — that you would make 


534 


THE MINISTER’S Y\ J OING. 


a most true, affectionate, constant wife to him 
but what I know you feel for me is something 
wholly out of your power to give to him, — is it 
not, now ? ” 

“ I think it is,” said Mary, looking gravely and 
deeply thoughtful. “ But then, James, I ask my- 
self, ‘ What if this had happened a week hence ? * 
My feelings would have been just the same, be- 
cause they are feelings over which I have no 
more control than over my existence. I can only 
control the expression of them. But in that case 
you would not have asked me to break my mar- 
riage-vow; and why now shall I break a solemn 
vow deliberately made before God ? If what I 
can give him will content him, and he never knows 
that which would give him pain, what wrong is 
done him?” 

“ I should think the deepest possible wrong 
done me,” said James, “if, when I thought I had 
married a wife with a whole heart, 1 found that 
the greater part of it had been before that given 
to another. If you tell him, or if I tell him, or 
your mother, — who is the proper person, — and he 
chooses to hold you to your promise, then, Mary, 
I have no more to say. I shall sail in a few 
weeks again, and carry your image forever in my 
heart; — nobody can take that away; that dear 
ahadow will be the only wife I shall ever know. 

At this moment Miss Prissy came rattling 


THE MINIM EE S WOOING. 


535 


along to wauls the door, talking — we suspecl 
designedly — on quite a high key. Mary hastily 
said, — 

“ Wait, James, — let me think, — to-morrow is 
the Sabbath-day. Monday I will send you word, 
or see you.” 

And when Miss Prissy returned into the best 
room, James was sitting at one window and Mary 
a 4 another, — he making remarks, in a style of 
most admirable commonplace, on a copy of Mil- 
ton’s “ Paradise Lost,” which he had picked up in 
the confusion of the moment, and which, at the 
time Mrs. Katy Scudder entered, he was declaring 
to be a most excellent book, — a really, truly, val- 
uable work. 

Mrs. Scudder looked keenly from one to the 
other, and saw that Mary’s cheek was glowing 
like the deepest heart of a pink shell, while, in all 
other respects, she was as cold and calm. On the 
whole, she felt satisfied that no mischief had been 
done. 

We hope our readers will do Mrs. Scudder jus- 
tice. It is true that she yet wore on her third 
finger the marriage-rmg of a sailor lover, and his 
memory was yet fresh in her heart ; but even 
mothers who have married for love themselves 
somehow so blend a daughter’s existence with 
their own as to conceive that she must marry 
their love, and not her own. Besides this. Mrs 


536 


THE MINISTER’S WO»'ING. 


Scudder was an Old Testament woman, brought 
up with that scrupulous exactitude of fidelity in 
relation to promises which would naturally come 
from familiarity with a book in which covenant- 
keeping is represented as one of the highest attri- 
butes of Deity, and covenant-breaking as one of 
the vilest sins of humanity. To break the word 
that had gone forth out of one’s mouth was to 
lose self-respect, and all claim to the respect of 
others, and to sin against eternal rectitude. 

As we have said before, it is almost impossible 
to make our light-minded times comprehend the 
earnestness with which those people lived. It was, 
in the beginning, no vulgar nor mercenary ambi- 
tion that made her seek the Doctor as a husband 
for her daughter. He was poor, and she had had 
offers from richer men. He was often unpopular ; 
but he was the man in the world she most re- 
vered, the man she believed in with the most im- 
plicit faith, the man who embodied her highest 
ideas of the good ; and therefore it was that she 
was willing to resign her child to him. 

As to James, she had felt truly sympathetic 
with his mother, and with Mary, in the dreadful 
hour when they supposed him lost; and had i* 
not been for the great perplexity occasioned by his 
return, she would have received him, as a relative 
with open arms. But now she felt it her duty to 
be on the defensive, — an attitude not the most 


l'HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


537 


favorable for cherishing pleasing associations in 
regard to another. She had read the letter giving 
an account of his spiritual experience with very 
sincere pleasure, as a good woman should, but 
not without an internal perception how very much 
it endangered her favorite plans. When Mary, 
however, had calmly reiterated her determination, 
she felt sure of her ; for had she ever known her 
to say a thing she did not do? 

The uneasiness she felt at present was not the 
doubt of her daughter’s steadiness, but the feai 
that she might have been unsuitably harassed oj 
annoyed. 






538 


THE MINISTER’S WOOINC* 


CHAPTER XXXVTJ1. 

THE TRANSFIGURED. 

Tiie next morning rose calm and fair. It was 
the Sabbath-day, — the last Sabbath in Mary’s 
maiden life, if her promises and plans were ful- 
filled. 

Mary dressed herself in white, — her hands trem 
bling with unusual agitation, her sensitive nature di- 
vided between two opposing consciences and two 
opposing affections. Her devoted filial love toward 
the Doctor made her feel the keenest sensitiveness 
at the thought of giving him pain. At the same 
time, the questions which James had proposed to 
her had raised serious doubts in her mind whethei 
it was altogether right to suffer him blindly to 
enter into this union. So, after she was all pre- 
pared, she bolted the door of her chamber, and, 
opening her Bible, read, “ If any of you lack wis- 
dom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all mer 
liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be giver 
him ” ; and then, kneeling down by the bedside 
she asked that God would give her some im- 
mediate light in her present perplexity. So pray- 


THE MINISTERS WOOING. 


539 


mg, her mind grew calm and steady, and she rose 
up at the sound of the bell, which marked that 
it was time to set forward for church. 

Everybody noticed, as she came into church that 
morning, how beautiful Mary Scudder looked. It 
was no longer the beauty of the carved statue, 
the pale alabaster shrine, the sainted virgin, but a 
warm, bright, living light, that spoke of some sum- 
mer breath breathing within her soul. 

When she took her place in the singers’ seat, 
she knew, without turning her head, that he was 
in his old place, not far from her side; and those 
whose eyes followed her to the gallery marvelled 
at her face there, — 

“her pure and eloquent blood 
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought 
That you might almost say her body thought ; H 

for a thousand delicate nerves were becoming vital 
once more, — the holy mystery of womanhood had 
wrought within her. 

When they rose to sing, the tune must needs 
be one which they had often sung together, out 
of the same book, at the singing-school, — one of 
those wild, pleading tunes, dear to the heart of 
New England, — born, if we may credit the report, 
in the rocky hollows of its mountains, and whose 
notes have a kind of grand and mournful triumph 
in their warbling wail, and in which different parta 


D40 THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 

of the harmony, set contrary to all the canons of 
musical Pharisaism, had still a singular and ro» 
man tic effect, which a true musical genius would 
not have failed to recognize. The four parts, 
tenor, treble, bass, and counter, as they were then 
called, rose and swelled and wildly mingled, with 
I he fitful strangeness of an ^Eolian harp, or of 
winds in mountain-hollows, or the vague moanings 
of the sea on lone forsaken shores. And Mary, 
while her voice rose over the waves of the treble, 
and trembled with a pathetic richness, felt, to her 
inmost heart, the deep accord of that other voice 
which rose to meet hers, so wildly melancholy, 
as if the soul in that manly breast had come to 
meet her soul in the disembodied, shadowy verity 
of eternity. The grand old tune, called by oui 
fathers “ China,” never, with its dirge-like melody, 
drew two souls more out of themselves, and en- 
twined them more nearly with each other. 

The last verse of the hymn spoke of the resur- 
rection of the saints with Christ, — 

“ Then let the last dread trumpet sound 
And bid the dead arise ; 

Awake, ye nations under ground ! 

Ye saints, ascend the skies ! ” 

And as Mary sang, she felt sublimely upborne 
with the idea that life is but a moment and love 
is imnu^rtal, and seemed, in a shadowy trance, tc 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 541 

feel herself and him past this mortal fane, far ovei 
on the shores of that other life, ascending with 
Christ, all-glorified, all tears wiped away, and with 
full permission to love and to be loved forever 
And as she sang, the Doctor looked upward, and 
marvelled at the light in her eyes and the rich 
bloom on her cheek; for where she stood, a sun- 
beam, streaming aslant through the dusty panes 
of the window, touched her head wxth a kind of 
glory, and the thought he then received out- 
breathed itself in the yet more fervent adoratior 
of his prayer 



THE MINISTER’S WOOINU. 


642 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE ICE BROKEN. 

Our fathers believed in special answers to prayer 
They were not stumbled by the objection about the 
inflexibility of the laws of Nature ; because they 
had the idea, that, when the Creator of the world 
promised to answer human prayers, He probably 
understood the laws of Nature as well as they 
did. At any rate, the laws of Nature were His 
affair, and not theirs. They were men, very apt, 
as the Duke of Wellington said, to “ look to their 
marching-orders,” — which, being found to read, 
“ Be careful for nothing, but in everything by 
prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your 
requests be made known unto God,” they did 
it. “ They looked unto Him and were lightened, 
and their faces were not ashamed.” One reads, 
in the Memoirs of Dr. Hopkins, of Newport Gard- 
ner, one of his African catechumens, a negro of 
singular genius and ability, who, being desirous 
of his freedom, that he might be a missionary to 
Africa, and having long worked without being 
able to raise the amount required, was counselled 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


543 


by Dr. Hopkins that it might be a shortei way to 
seek his freedom from the Lord, by a day of 
solemn fasting and prayer. The historical fact is, 
that, on the evening of a day so consecrated, his 
master returned from church, called Newport to 
him, and presented him with his freedom. Is it 
not possible that He who made the world may 
have established laws for prayer as invariable as 
those for the sowing of seed and raising of grain? 
Is it not as legitimate a subject of inquiry, when 
petitions are not answered, which of these laws 
has been neglected? 

But be that as it may, certain it is, that Can- 
dace, who on this morning in church sat where 
she could see Mary and James in the singers’ seat, 
had certain thoughts planted in her mind which 
bore fruit afterwards in a solemn and select con- 
sultation held with Miss Prissy at the end of the 
horse-shed by the meeting-house, during the inter- 
mission between the morning and afternoon ser- 
vices. 

Candace sat on a fragment of granite boulder 
which lay there, her black face relieved against a 
clump of yellow mulleins, then in majestic alti- 
tude. On her lap was spread a checked pocket- 
handkerchief, containing rich slices of cheese, and 
a store of her favorite brown doughnuts. 

“ Now, Miss Prissy,” she said, “ dars reason in 
all tingSy an’ a good deal more in some tings dam 


344 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


dar is in oders. Dar’s a good deal more reason 
in two young, handsome folks comm 5 togeder dan 
dar is in” 

Candace finished the sentence by an emphatic 
flourish of her doughnut. 

“ Now, as long as eberybody thought Jim Mar- 
vyn was dead, dar wa’n’t nothin’ else in de world 
to be done but marry de Doctor. But, good lan ! 
I hearn him a-talkin’ to Miss Marvyn las’ night; 
it kinder ’mos’ broke my heart. Why, dem two 
poor creeturs, dey’s jest as onhappy’s dey can be! 
An’ she’s got too much feelin’ for de Doctor to 
say a word ; an’ I say he oughter be told on’t ! 
dat’s what I say,” said Candace, giving a decisive 
bite to her doughnut. 

“ I say so, too,” said Miss Prissy. u Why, I 
never had such bad feelings in my life as I did 
yesterday, when that young man came down to 
our house. He was just as pale as a cloth. I 
tried to say a word to Miss Scudder, but she 
snapped me up so ! She’s an awful decided wo- 
man when her mind’s made up. I was telling 
Cerinthy Ann Twitchel, — she came round me this 
noon, — that it didn’t exactly seem to me right 
that things should go on as they are going. And 
says I, 1 Cerinthy Ann, I don’t know anything 
what to do.’ And says she, * If I was you, 1 
know what Id do, — I’d tell the Doctor,’ says she. 

Nobody ever takes offence at anything you do 4 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


54 > 


Miss Prissy.’ To be sure,” added Miss Prissy, “ 1 
have talked to people about a good many things 
that it’s rather strange I should ; ’cause I a’n’t 
one, somehow, that can let things go that seem 
to want doing. I always told folks that I should 
spoil a novel before it got half-way through the 
first volume, by blurting out some of those things 
that they let go trailing on so, till everybody gets 
so mixed up they don’t know what they’re doing.” 

u Well, now, honey,” said Candace, authorita- 
tively, u ef you’s got any notions o’ dat kind, I 
tink it mus’ come from de good Lord, an’ I ’dvise 
you to be ’tendin’ to’t, right away. You jes’ go 
’long an’ tell de Doctor yourself all you know, an’ 
den le’s see what’ll come on’t. 1 tell you, I b’liebe 
it’ll be one o’ de bes’ day’s works you eber did in 
your life ! ” 

“ Well,” said Miss Prissy, “I guess to-night, be- 
fore I go to bed, I’ll make a dive at him. When 
a thing’s once out, it’s out, and can’t be got in 
again, even if people don’t like it ; and that’s a 
mercy, anyhow. It really makes me feel ’most 
wicked to think of it, for he is the most blessed- 
est man ! ” 

“ Dat’s what he fs,” said Candace. “ But de 
blessedest man in de world oughter know de truth; 
fiat’s what I tink ! ” 

“ Yes, — true enough!” said Miss Prissy. “ IT 
Jell him, anywa}.” 


546 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Miss Prissy was as good as her word ; for that 
evening, when the Doctor had retired to his study, 
6he took her life in her hand, and, walking swiftly 
as a cat, tapped rather timidly at the study-door 
which the Doctor opening said, benignantly, — 

“Ah, Miss Prissy ! ” 

“ If you please, Sir,” said Miss Prissy, “ Fd 
like a little conversation.” 

The Doctor was well enough used to such re 
quests from the female members of his church, 
which, generally, were the prelude to some dis- 
closures of internal difficulties or spiritual experi- 
ences. He therefore graciously motioned her to a 
chair. 

“ I thought I must come in,” she began, busily 
twirling a bit of her Sunday gown. “ I thought 
— that is — I felt it my duty — I thought — per- 
haps — I ought to tell you — that perhaps you 
ought to know.” 

The Doctor looked civilly concerned. He did 
not know but Miss Prissy’s wits were taking leave 
of her. He replied, however, with his usual hon- 
est stateliness, — 

“ I trust, dear Madam, that you will feel at per- 
fect freedom to open to me any exercises of mind 
that you may have.” 

“ It isn’t about myself,” said Miss Prissy. “ If 
\ ou please, it’s’ about you and Mary ! ” 

The Doctor now looked awake in right earnest 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


547 


and very much astonished besides ; and he looked 
eageily at Miss Prissy, to have her go on. 

u I don’t know how you would view such a 
matter,” said Miss Prissy ; “ but the fact is, that 
James Marvyn and Mary always did love each 
other, ever since they were children.” 

Still the Doctor was unawakened to the real 
meaning of the words, and he answered, sinL- 

p!y> — 

“ I should be far from wishing to interfere with 
so very natural and universal a sentiment, which, 
I make no doubt, is all quite as it should be.” 

“No, — but,” said Miss Prissy, “you don’t un 
derstand what I mean. I mean that James Mar- 
vyn wanted to marry Mary, and that she was — 

well — she wasn’t engaged to him, but” 

“ Madam ! ” said the Doctor, in a voice that 
frightened Miss Prissy out of her chair, while a 
blaze like sheet-lightning shot from his eyes, and 
his face flushed crimson. 

“ Mercy on us ! Doctor, I hope you’ll excuse 
me; but there the fact is, — I’ve said it out, — 
the fact is, they wa’n’t engaged ; but that Mary 
loved him ever since he was a boy, as she never 
will and never can love any man again in this 
world, is what I am just as sure of as that Pm 
standing here ; and I’ve felt you ought to know 
it ; ’cause I’m quite sure that, if he’d been alive, 
she’d never given the promise she has, — the prom 


54S 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


ise that she means to keep, if her heart breaks, 
and his too. They wouldn’t anybody tell you 
and I thought I mu t tell you; ’cause I thought 
you’d know what was right to do about it.” 

During all this latter speech the Doctor was 
standing with his back to Miss Prissy, and his 
face to the window, just as he did some time 
before, when Mrs. Scudder came to tell him of 
Mary’s consent. He made a gesture backward, 
without speaking, that she .should leave the apart- 
ment; and Miss Prissy left, with a guilty kind of 
feeling, as if she had been striking a knife into 
her pastor, and, rushing distractedly across the 
entry into Mary’s little bedroom, she bolted the 
door, threw herself on the bed, and be^an to 
cry. 

“ Well, I’ve done it ! ” she said to herself. 
“ He’s a very strong, hearty man,” she soliloquized, 
“so I hope it won’t put him in a consumption; — 
men do go into a consumption about such things 
sometimes. I remember Abner Seaforth did ; but 
then he was always narrow-chested, and had the 
liver-complaint, or something. 1 don’t know what 
Miss Scudder will say; — but I’ve done it. Poor 
man ! such a good man, too ! I declare, I feel 
just like Herod taking off John the Baptist’s head 
Well, well! it’s done, and can’t be helped.” 

Just at this moment Miss Prissy heard a gentle 
tap at the door, and started as if it had been a 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


54S 


ghost, — not being able to rid herself of the im- 
pression, that, somehow, she had committed a great 
crime, for which retribution was knocking at the 
door. 

It was Mary, who said, in her sweetest and 
most natural tones, “ Miss Prissy, the Doctor wouki 
like to see you.” 

Mary was much astonished at the frightened, 
disconfposed manner with which Miss Prissy re- 
ceived this announcement, and said, — 

“ I’m afraid I’ve waked you up out of sleep. 
I don’t think there’s the least hurry.” 

Miss Prissy didn’t, either; but she reflected af- 
terwards that she might as well get through with 
it at once ; and therefore, smoothing her tumbled 
cap-border, she went to the Doctor’s study. This 
time he was quite composed, and received her 
with a mournful gravity, and requested her to be 
seated. 

“ I beg, Madam,” he said, “ you will excuse the 
abruptness of my manner in our late interview. 
I was so little prepared for the communication 
you had to make, that I was, perhaps, unsuitably 
discomposed. Will you allow me to ask whether 
you were requested by any of the parties to com- 
municate to me what you did ? ” 

“ No, Sir,” said Miss Prissy. 

“ Have any of the parties ever communicated 
with you on the subject at all ? ” said the Doctor 


550 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


“ No, Sii,” said Miss Prissy. 

“That is all,” said the Doctor. “I will not 
detain you. I am very much obliged to you, 
Madam.” 

He rose, and opened the door for her to pass 
out, — and Miss Prissy, overawed by the stately 
gravity of his manner, went out in silence. 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


Ml 


CHAPTER XJ 

THE SACRIFICE. 

When Miss Prissy left the room, the Doctoi 
Bat down by the table and covered his face with 
his hands. He had a large, passionate, determined 
nature ; and he had just come to one of those 
cruel crises :n life in which it is apt to seem to 
us that the whole force of our being, all that we 
can hope, wish, feel, enjoy, has been suffered to 
gather itself into one great wave, only to break 
upon some cold rock of inevitable fate, and go 
back, moaning, into emptiness. 

In such hours men and women have cursed 
God and life, and thrown violently down and 
trampled under their feet what yet was left of 
life’s blessings, in the fierce bitterness of despair. 
w This, or nothing ! ” the soul shrieks, in her frenzy. 
At just such points as these, men have plunged 
into intemperance and wild excess, — they have 
gone to be shot down in battle, — they have 
broken life, and thrown it away, like an empty 
goblet, and gone, like wailing ghosts, out into the 
dread unknown. 


*52 THE MINISTER’S WOOlHtt. 

The possibility of all this lay in that heart 
which had just received that stunning blow. Ex- 
ercised and disciplined as he had been, by years 
of sacrifice, by constant, unsleeping self-vigilance, 
there was rising there, in that great heart, an 
ocean-tempest of passion, and for a while his cries 
unto God seemed as empty and as vague as the 
screams of birds tossed and buffeted in the clouds 
of mighty tempests. 

The will that he thought wholly subdued seemed 
to rise under him as a rebellious giant. A few 
hours before, he thought himself established in an 
invincible submission to God’s will that nothing 
could shake. Now he looked into himself as into 
a seething vortex of rebellion, and against all the 
passionate cries of his lower nature could, in the 
language of an old saint, cling to God only by 
the naked force of his will. That will rested un- 
melted amid the boiling sea of passion,' waiting 
its hour of renewed sway. He walked the room 
for hours, and then sat down to his Bible, and 
roused once or twice to find his head leaning on 
its pages, and his mind far gone in thoughts, from 
which he woke with a bitter throb. Then he de- 
termined to set himself to some definite work, and. 
taking his Concordance, began busily tracing out 
and numbering all the proof-texts for one of the 
chapters of his theological system ! till, at last, he 
worked himself down to such calmness that he • 


['HE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


553 


could pray ; and then he schooled and reasoned 
with himself, in a style not unlike, in its spirit, to 
that in which a great modern author has addressed 
Buffering humanity : — 

“ What is it that thou art fretting and self-tor- 
menting about? Is it because thou art not hap- 
py? Who told thee that thou wast to be happy? 
Is there any ordinance of the universe that thou 
shouldst be happy ? Art thou nothing but a vul- 
ture screaming for prey ? Canst thou not do 
without happiness ? Yea, thou canst do with- 
out happiness, and, instead thereof, find blessed- 
ness.” 

The Doctor came, lastly, to the conclusion, that 
blessedness, which was all the portion his Master 
had on earth, might do for him also ; and there- 
fore he kissed and blessed that silver dove of hap- 
piness, which he saw was weary of sailing in his 
clumsy old ark, and let it go out of his hand 
without a tear. 

He slept little that night ; but when he came 
to breakfast, all noticed an unusual gentleness 
and benignity of manner, and Mary, she knew not 
why, saw tears rising in his eyes when he looked 
at her. 

After breakfast he requested Mrs. Scudder to 
step with him into his study, and Miss Prissy 
shook in her little shoes as she saw the matron 
entering. The door was shut for a long time, and 

24 


554 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


tw»i voices could be heard in earnest conversa- 
tion. 

Meanwhile James Marvyn entered the cottage, 
prompt to remind Mary of her promise that she 
would talk with him again this morning. 

They had talked with each other but a few 
moments, by the sweetbrier-shaded window in the 
best room, when Mrs. Scudder appeared at the 
door of the apartment, with traces of tears upon 
her cheeks. 

“ Good morning, James,” she said. “ The Doc- 
tor wishes to see you and Mary a moment, to- 
gether.” 

Both looked sufficiently astonished, knowing, 
from Mrs. Scudder’s looks, that something was 
impending. They followed her, scarcely feeling 
the ground they trod on. 

The Doctor was sitting at his table, with his 
favorite large-print Bible open before him. He 
rose to receive them, with a manner at once 
gentle and grave. 

There was a pause of some minutes, during 
which he sat with his head leaning upon his 
hand. 

“ You all know,” he said, turning toward Mary 
who sat very near him, “the near and dear rela- 
tion in which I have been expected to stand to 
wards this friend. 1 should not have been worthy 
of that relation, if I had not felt in rny heart tins 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING A55 

true love of a husband, as set forth in the New 
Testament, — who should love his wife even as 
Christ loved the Church, and gave himself for it , 
and in case any peril or danger threatened this 
dear soul, and I could not give myself for her, I 
had never been worthy the honor she has done 
me. For, I take it, whenever there is a cross or 
burden to be borne by one or the other, that the 
man, who is made in the image of God as to 
strength and endurance, should take it upon him- 
self, and not lay it upon her that is weaker; for 
he is therefore strong, not that he may tyrannize 
over the weak, but bear their burdens for them, 
even as Christ for his Church. 

“ 1 have just discovered,” he added, looking 
kindly upon Mary, “ that there is a great cross 
and burden which must come, either on this dear 
child or on myself, through no fault of either of 
us, but through God’s good providence ; and there- 
fore let me bear it. 

“ Mary, my dear child,” he said, “ I will be to 
thee as a father, but I will not force thy heart.” 

At this moment, Mary, by a sudden, impulsive 
movement, threw her arms around his neck and 
kissed h‘m, and lay sobbing on his shoulder. 

“ No ! no ! ” she said, — “I will marry you, as 1 
said ! ” 

“Not if I will not,” he replied, with a benign 
pmile. “Come here, young man,” he said, with 




THE MINISTER’S WOOINO. 


some authority, to James. “ I give thee this 
maiden to wife.” And he lifted her from his 
shoulder, and placed her gently in the arms of 
the young man, who, overawed and overcome, 
pressed her silently to his heart. 

“ There, children, it is over,” he said. “ God 
bless you ! ” 

w Take her away,” he added ; “ she will be more 
composed soon.” 

Before James left, he grasped the Doctor’s hand 
in his, and said, — 

“ Sir, this tells on my heart more than any ser- 
mon you ever preached. I shall never forget it 
God bless you, Sir ! ” 

The Doctor saw them slowly quit the apart- 
ment, and, following them, closed the door ; and 
thus ended The Minister’s Wooing. 




THE MINIS T JUS'S WOOING. 


557 


CHAPTER XLL 

THE WEDDING. 

Of the events which followed this scene we are 
happy to give our readers more minute and graphic 
details than we ourselves could furnish, by tran- 
scribing for their edification an autograph letter of 
Miss Prissy’s, still preserved in a black oaken cab- 
inet of our great-grandmother’s ; and with which 
we take no further liberties than the correction of 
a somewhat peculiar orthography. It is written to 
that sister u Lizabeth,” in Boston, of whom she 
made such frequent mention, and whom, it appears, 
it was her custom to keep well-informed in all the 
gossip of her immediate sphere. 

“My dear Sister: — 

“ You wonder, I s’pose, why I haven’t written 
you; but the fact is, Pve been run just off my 
feet, and worked till the flesh aches so it seems 
as if it would drop off my bones, with this wed- 
ding of Mary Scudder’s. And, after all, you’] l D€ 
astonished to hear that she ha’n’t married the 


558 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


Doctor, but that Jim Marvyn that I told you 
about. You see, he came home a week before 
the wedding was to be, and Mary, she was so 
conscientious she thought ’twa’n’t right to break 
off with the Doctor, and so she was for going 
right on with it ; and Mrs. Scudder, she was for 
going on more yet; and the poor young man, he 
couldn’t get a word in edgeways, and there 
wouldn’t anybody tell the Doctor a word about it, 
and there ’twas drifting along, and both on ’em 
feeling dreadful, and so I thought to myself, ‘ I’ll 
just take my life in my hand, like Queen Esther, 
and go in and tell the Doctor all about it.’ And 
so I did. I’m scared to death always when I 
think of it. But that dear blessed man, he took 
it like a saint. He just gave her up as serene 
and calm as a psalm-book, and called Jim in and 
told him to take her. 

“ Jim was fairly overcrowed, — it really made 
him feel small, — and he says he’ll agree that there 
is more in the Doctor’s religion than most men’s : 
which shows how important it is for professing 
Christians to bear testimony in their works, — as 
I was telling Cerinthy Ann Twitchel ; and she 
said there wa’n’t anything made her want to be a 
Christian so much, if that was what religion would 
do for people. 

“ Well, you see, when this came out, it wanted 
iust three days of the weddings which was tc be 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


559 


fh irsday, and that wedding-dress I told you about 
that had lilies of the valley on a white ground 
was pretty much made, except puffing the gauze 
round the neck, which I do with white satin pip 
ing-cord, and it looks beautiful too ; and so Mrs 
Scudder and I, we were thinking ’twould do just 
as well, when in come Jim Marvyn, bringing the 
sweetest thing you ever saw, that he had got in 
China, and I think I never did see anything love- 
lier. It was a white silk, as thick as a board, and 
so stiff that it would stand alone, and overshot 
with little fine dots of silver, so that it shone 
when you moved it, just like frostwork ; and when 
I saw it, I just clapped my hands, and jumped up 
from the floor, and says I, ‘If I have to sit up 
all night, that dress shall be made, and made well, 
too.’ For, you know, I thought I could get Miss 
Olladine Hocum to run the breadths and do such 
parts, so that I could devote myself to the fine 
work. And that French woman I told you aboul, 
she said she’d help, and she’s a master-hand for 
touching things up. There seems to be work pro- 
vided for all kinds of people, and French people 
seem to have a gift in all sorts of dressy things, 
and ’tisn’t a bad gift either. 

“ Well, as I was saying, we agreed that this 
was to be cut open with a train, and a petticoat 
of just the palest, sweetest, loveliest blue that ever 
you saw, and gauze puffings down the edgings 


560 


THE MINISTER’S WOO ING. 


eacli side, fastened in, every once in a while, with 
lilies of the valley; and ’twas cut square in the 
neck, with puffings and flowers to match, and then 
tight sleeves, with full ruffles of that old Mechlin 
lace that you remember Mrs. Katy Scudder showed 
you once in that great camphor-wood tiunk. 

“ Well, you see, come to get all things together 
that were to be done, we concluded to put off the 
wedding till Tuesday; and Madame de Frontignac, 
she would dress the best room for it herself, and 
she spent nobody knows what time in going round 
and getting evergreens and making wreaths, and 
putting up green boughs over the pictures, so that 
the room looked just like the Episcopal church at 
Christmas. In fact, Mrs. Scudder said, if it had 
been Christmas, she shouldn’t have felt it right, 
but, as it was, she didn’t think anybody would 
think it any harm. 

“ Well, Tuesday night, I and Madame de Fron- 
tignac, we dressed Mary ourselves, and, I tell you, 
the dress fitted as if it was grown on her; and 
Madame de Frontignac, she dressed her hair ; and 
she had on a wreath of lilies of the valley, and a 
gauze veil that came a’most down to her feet, and 
came all around her like a cloud, and you could 
see her white shining dress through it every time 
she moved, and she looked just as white as a 
snow-berry , but there were two little pink spots 
that kept coming and going in her cheeks, that 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


561 


rind of lightened up when she smiled, and then 
faded down again. And the French lady put a 
string of real pearls round her neck, with a cross 
of pearls, which went down and lay hid in her 
bosom. 

w She was mighty calm-like while she was being 
dressed ; but just as I was putting in the last pin ; 
she heard the rumbling of a coach down-stairs, for 
Jim Marvyn had got a real elegant carnage to 
carry her over to his father’s in, and so she knew 
he was come. And pretty soon Mrs. Marvj n 
came in the room, and when she saw Mary, her 
brown eyes kind of danced, and she lifted up 
both hands, to see how beautiful she looked. And 
Jim Marvyn, he was standing at the door, and 
they told him it wasn’t proper that he should see 
till the time come ; but he begged so hard that 
he might just have one peep, that I let him come 
in, and he looked at her as if she was something 
he wouldn’t dare to touch ; and he said to me 
softly, says he, 4 I’m ’most afraid she has got wings 
somewhere that will fly away from me, or that I 
shall wake up and find it is a dream.’ 

“ Well, Cerinthy Ann T\Vitchel was the brides- 
maid, and she came next with that young man 
she is engaged to. It is all out now, that she is 
engaged, and she don’t deny it. And Cerinthy 
she looked handsomer than I ever saw her, in a 
white brocade, with rosebuds on it, which I guess 


562 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


she got in reference to the future, for they say she 
is going to be married next month. 

“ Well, vve all filled up the room pretty well 
till Mrs. Scudder came in to tell us that the com 
pany were all together ; and then they took hold 
of arms, and they had a little time practising how 
they must stand, and Cerinthy Ann’s beau would 
always get her on the wrong side, ’cause he’s 
rather bashful, and don’t know very well what he’s 
about ; and Cerinthy Ann declared she was afraid 
that she should laugh out in prayer-time, ’cause 
she always did laugh when she knew she mus’n’t, 
But finally Mrs. Scudder told us we must go in, 
and looked so reproving at Cerinthy that she had 
to hold her mouth with her pocket-handkerchief. 

“ Well, the old Doctor was standing there in the 
very silk gown that the ladies gave him to be 
married in himself, — poor, dear man ! — and he 
smiled kind of peaceful on ’em when they came 
in, and walked up to a kind of bower of ever- 
greens and flowers that Madame de Frontignac 
had fixed for them to stand in. Mary grew rather 
white, as if she was going to faint ; but Jim Mar- 
vyn stood up just as' firm, and looked as proud 
and handsome as a prince, and he kind of looked 
down at her, — ’cause, you know, he is a great 
deal taller, — kind of wondering, as if he wanted 
to know if it was really so. Well, when they got 
all placed, they let the doors stand open, and Cato 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


56 ? 


and Candace came and stood in the door. And 
Candace had on her great splendid Mogadore tur- 
ban, and a crimson and yellow shawl, that she 
seemed to take comfort in wearing, although it 
was pretiy hot. 

“ Well, so when they were all fixed, the Doctor, 
he begun his prayer, — and as ’most all of us 
knew what a great sacrifice he had made, 1 don’t 
believe there was a dry eye in the room ; and 
when he had done, there was a great time, — peo- 
ple blowing their noses and wiping their eyes, as 
if it had been a funeral. Then Cerinthy Ann, she 
pulled off Mary’s glove pretty quick ; but that 
poor beau of hers, he made such work of James’s 
that he had to pull it off himself, after all, and 
Cerinthy Ann, she liked to have laughed out loud. 
And so when the Doctor told them to join hands, 
Jim took hold of Mary’s hand as if he didn’f 
mean to let go very soon, and so they were mar- 
ried. 

« I was the first one that kissed the bride after 
Mrs. Scudder, — I got that promise out of Mary 
vhen I was making the dress. And Jim Marvyn, 
he insisted upon kissing me, — ‘’Cause,’ says he, 
« Miss Prissy, you are as young and handsome as 
any of ’em’; and I told him he was a saucy 
fellow, and I’d box his ears, if 1 could reach 
them. 

« That French lady looked lovely, dressed in 


564 


THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 


pair* pink silk, with long pink wreaths of flowers 
in her hair ; and she came up and kissed Mary, 
and said something to her in French. 

“ And after a while old Candace came up, and 
Mary kissed her ; and then Candace put her arms 
round Jim’s neck, and gave him a real hearty 
smack, so that everybody laughed. 

“And then the cake and the wine was passed 
round, and everybody had good times till we heard 
the nine-o’clock-bell ring. And then the coach 
came up to the door, and Mrs. Scudder, she 
wrapped Mary up, kissing her, and crying over 
her, while Mrs. Marvyn stood stretching her arms 
out of the coach after her. And then Cato and 
Candace went after in the wagon behind, and so 
they all went off together; and that was the end 
of the wedding ; and ever since then we ha’ n’t 
any of us done much but rest, for we were pretty 
much beat out. So no more at present from your 
affectionate sister, 

“ Prissy. 

“ P.S. — I forgot to tell you that Jim Marvyn 
has come home quite rich. He fell in with a 
*uan in China who was at the head of one of 
their great merchant-houses, whom he nursed 
through a long fever, and took care of his busi- 
ness, and so, when he got well, nothing would 
do but he must have him for a partner ; and 
now hs is going to live in this country and at* 


THE MINISTER’S ayOuING. 


565 


tend to the business of the house here. They 
say he is going to build a house as grand as the 
Vernon s’. And we hope he has experienced relig- 
ion ; and he means to join our church, which is a 
providence, for he is twice as rich and generous 
as that old Simeon Brown that snapped me up so 
about my wages. I never believed in him, for all 
his talk. I was down to Mrs. Scudder’s when the 
Doctor examined Jim about his evidences. At 
fiist the Doctor seemed a little anxious, ’cause he 
didn’t talk in the regular way ; for you know Jim 
always did have his own way of talking, and 
never could say things in other people’s words ; 
and sometimes he makes folks laugh, when he 
himself don’t know what they laugh at, because 
he hits the nail on the head in some strange way 
they aren’t expecting. If I was to have died, I 
couldn’t help laughing at some things he said; and 
yet I don’t think I ever felt more solemnized. He 
Bat up there in a sort of grand, straightforward, 
noble way, and told all the way the Lord had 
been leading of him, and all the exercises of his 
mind, and all about the dreadful shipwreck, and 
how he was saved, and the loving-kindness of the 
Lord, till the Doctor’s spectacles got all blinded 
with tears, and he couldn’t see the notes he made 
to examine him by ; and we all cried, Mrs. Scud- 
der, and Mary, and I; and as to Mrs. Marvyn, 
nhe just sat with her hands clasped, looking into 


566 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


her son’s eyes, like a picture of the Virgin Mary 
And when Jim got through, there wa’n’t nothing 
to be heard for some minutes ; and the Doctor he 
wiped his eyes and wiped his glasses, and he 
looked over his papers, but he couldn’t bring out 
a word, and at last says he, “ Let us pray,” — for 
that was all there was to be said ; for I think 
sometimes things so kind of fills folks up that 
there a’n’t nothing to be done but pray, which, the 
Lord be praised, we are privileged to do always. 
Between you and I, Martha, I never could under- 
stand all the distinctions our dear, blessed Doctor 
sets up ; but when he publishes his system, if I 
work my fingers to the bone, I mean to buy one 
and study it out, because he is such a blessed 
man ; though, after all’s said, I have to come back 
to my old place, and trust to the loving-kindness 
of the Lord, who takes care of the sparrow on 
the house-top, and all small, lone creatures like me; 
though I can’t say I’m lone either, because nobody 
need say that, so long as there’s folks to be done 
for. So if I don't understand the Doctor’s theology, 
or don’t get eyes to read it, on account of the fine 
stitching on his shirt-ruffles I’ve been trying to do 
still I hope I may be accepted on account of thf 
Lord’s great goodness; for if we can’t trust thaf 
it’s all over with us all.” 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


567 


CHAPTER XLIL 

LAST WORDS. 

We know it is fashionable to drop the curtain 
over a newly married pair, as they recede from the 
altar; but we cannot but hope our readers may 
by this time have enough of interest in our little 
history to wish for a few words on the lot of the 
personages whose acquaintance they have thereby 
made. 

The conjectures of Miss Prissy in regard to the 
grand house which James was to build for his 
bride were as speedily as possible realized. On a 
beautiful elevation, a little out of the town of 
Newport, rose a fair and stately mansion, whose 
windows overlooked the harbor, and whose wide, 
cool rooms were adorned by the constant presence 
of the sweet face and form which has been the 
guiding star of our story. The fair poetic maiden, 
the seeress, the saint, has passed into that ap- 
pointed shrine for woman, more holy than cloister, 
more saintly and pure than church or altar, — a 
Christian home . Priestess, wife, and mother, tber# 


568 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


she ministers daily in holy works of Household 
peace, and by faith and prayer and love redeems 
from grossness and earthliness the common toils 
and wants of life. 

The gentle guiding force that led James Maxvyn 
from the maxims and habits and ways of this 
world to the higher conception of an heroic and 
Christ-like manhood was still ever present with 
him, gently touching the springs of life, brooding 
peacefully with dovelike wings over his soul, and 
he grew up under it noble in purpose and strong 
in spirit. He was one of the most energetic and 
fearless supporters of the Doctor in his life-long 
warfare against an inhumanity which was in- 
trenched in all the mercantile interests of the day, 
and which at last fell before the force of conscience 
and moral appeal. 

Candace in time transferred her allegiance to 
the growing family of her young master and mis- 
tress, and predominated proudly in gorgeous rai- 
ment with her butterfly turban over a rising race 
of young Marvyns. All the care not needed by 
them was bestowed on the somewhat querulous 
old age of Cato, whose never-failing cough fur- 
nished occupation for all her spare hours and 
thought. 

As for our friend the Doctor, we trust our read- 
ers will appreciate the magnanimity with which he 
proved a real and disinterested love, in a point wher* 


THE MINISTER’S WuOING. 


569 


fio many men experience only the graspings of a 
selfish one. A mind so severely trained as his had 
been brings to a great crisis, involving severe self* 
denial, an amount of reserved moral force quite 
inexplicable to those less habituated to self-control. 
He was like a warrior whose sleep even was in 
armor, always ready to be roused to the con- 
flict. 

In regard to his feelings for Mary, he made the 
sacrifice of himself to her happiness so wholly 
and thoroughly that there was not a moment of 
weak hesitation, — no going back over the past, — 
no vain regret Generous and brave souls find a 
support in such actions, because the very exertion 
raises them to a higher and purer plane of exist- 
ence. 

His diary records the event only in these very 
calm and temperate words : — “It was a trial to 
me, — a very great trial ; but as she did not de- 
ceive me, I shall never lose my friendship for 
her.” 

The Doctor was always a welcome inmate in 
the house of Mary and James, as a friend revered 
and dear. Nor did he want in time a hearthstone 
of his own, where a bright and loving face made 
him daily welcome ; for we find that he married 
at last a woman of a fair countenance, and that 
sons and daughters grew up around him. 

In time, also, his theological system was pul> 


570 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


iished. In that day, it was customary to dedicate 
new or important works to the patronage of some 
distinguished or powerful individual. The Doctor 
had no earthly patron. Four or five simple lines 
are found in the commencement of his work, in 
which, in a spirit reverential and affectionate, he 
dedicates it to our Lord Jesus Christ, praying Him 
to accept the good, and to overrule the errors to 
His glory. 

Quite unexpectedly to himself, the work proved 
a success, not only in public acceptance and es- 
teem, but even in a temporal view, bringing to 
him at last a modest competence, which he ac- 
cepted with surprise and gratitude. To the last 
of a very long life, he was the same steady, undis- 
couraged worker, the same calm witness against 
popular sins and proclaimer of unpopular truths, 
ever saying and doing what he saw to be eter- 
nally right, without Ihe slightest consultation with 
worldly expediency or earthly gain ; nor did his 
words cease to work in New England till the evils 
he opposed were finally done away. 

Colonel Burr leaves the scene of our story to 
pursue those brilliant and unscrupulous political 
intrigues so well known to the historian of those 
times, and whose results were so disastrous to 
himself. His duel with the ill-fated Hamilton, tho 
awful retribution of public opinion that follow- 
ed, and the slow downward course of a doomed 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


571 


life are all on record. Chased from society, 
pointed at everywhere by the finger of hatred, 
so accursed in common esteem that even the pub- 
lican who lodged him for a night refused to ac- 
cept his money when he knew his name, heart- 
stricken in his domestic relations, his only daugh* 
ter taken by pirates and dying amid untold hor- 
rors, — one seems to see in a doom so much 
above that of other men the power of an aveng- 
ing Nemesis for sins beyond those of ordinary 
humanity. 

But we who have learned of Christ may hum- 
bly hope that these crushing miseries in this life 
came not because he was a sinner above others, not 
in wrath alone, — but that the prayers of the sweet 
saint who gave him to God even before his birth 
brought to him those friendly adversities, that thus 
might be slain in his soul the evil demon of pride, 
which had been the opposing force to all that was 
noble within him. Nothing is more affecting than 
the account of the last hours of this man, whom 
a woman took in and cherished in his poverty 
and weakness with that same heroic enthusiasm 
with which it was his lot to inspire so man} 
women. This humble keeper of lodgings was told, 
that, if she retained Aaron Burr, all her other lodg- 
ers would leave. “ Let them do it, then,” she said ; 
“but he shall remain.” In the same uncomplaining 
<*nd inscrutable silence in which he had borne th« 


572 


IflE MINISTER’S WOOlNli. 


reverses and miseries of his life did this singulai 
being pass through the shades of the dark valley 
The New Testament was always under his pillow 
and when alone he was often found reading it at- 
tentively ; but of the result of that communion 
with higher powers he said nothing. Patient, gen- 
tle, and grateful, he was, as to all his inner his- 
tory, entirely silent and impenetrable. He died 
with the request, which has a touching significance, 
that he might be buried at the feet of those par- 
ents whose lives had finished so differently from 
his own. 

“No farther seek his errors to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.” 

Shortly after Mary’s marriage, Madame de Fron 
tignac sailed with her husband for home, where 
they lived in a very retired way on a large estate 
in the South of France. An intimate correspond- 
ence was kept up between her and Mary for man) 
years, from which we shall give our readers a few 
extracts. Her first letter is dated shortly after her 
return to France. 

“ At last, my sweet Marie, you behold us in 
Deace after our wanderings. I wish you could see 
our lovely nest in the hills, which overlook the 
Mediterranean, whose blue waters remind me of 
Newport harbor and our old days there. Ah, my 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


573 


sweet saint, blessed was the day I first learned to 
know you! for it was you, more than anything 
else, that kept me back from sin and misery. I 
call you my Sibyl, dearest, because the Sibyl was 
a prophetess of divine things out of the Church ; 
and so are you. The Abb5 says, that all true, de- 
vout persons in all persuasions belong to the True 
Catholic Apostolic Church, and will in the end be 
enlightened to know it; what do you think of 
that, ma belle ? I fancy I see you look at me 
with your grave, innocent eyes, just as you used 
to ; but you say nothing. 

u I am far happier, ma Marie , than I ever thought 
I could be. I took your advice, and told my hus- 
band all I had felt and suffered. It was a very 
hard thing to do ; but I felt how true it was, as you 
said, that there could be no real friendship without 
perfect truth at bottom; so I told him all, and he 
was very good and noble and helpful to me ; and 
since then he has been so gentle and patient ano. 
thoughtful, that no mother could be kinder; and I 
should be a very bad woman, if I did not love 
him truly and dearly, — as I do. 

u I must confess that there is still a weak, bleed- 
ing place in my heart that aches yet, but I try to 
bear it* bravely; and when I am tempted to think 
myself very miserable, 1 remember how patiently 
you used to go about your house-work and spin- 
ning, in those sad days when you thought y:mr 


574 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


heart was drowned in the sea ; and I try to do 
like you. I have many duties to my servants and 
tenants, and mean to be a good chdtelaine ; and 1 
find, when I nurse the sick and comfort the poor 
that my sorrows are lighter. For, after all, Mary 
I have lost nothing that ever was mine, — only my 
foolish heart has grown to something that it should 
not, and bleeds at being torn away. Nobody but 
Christ and His dear Mother can tell what this sor 
row is; but they know, and that is enough.” 

The next letter is dated some three years after. 

“ You see me now, my Marie, a proud and 
happy woman. I was truly envious, when you 
wrote me of the birth of your little son; but now 
the dear good God has sent a sweet little angel 
to me, to comfort my sorrows and lie close to my 
heart; and since he came, all pain is gone. Ah, 
if you could see him ! he has black eyes and 
lashes like silk, and such little hands ! — even his 
finger-nails are all perfect, like little gems; and 
when he puts his little hand on my bosom, I 
tremble with joy. Since he came, I pray always, 
and the good God seems very near to me. Now 
I realize, as I never did before, the sublime thought 
that God revealed Himself in the infant Jesus ; 
and I bow before the manger of Bethlehem. where 
the Holy Babe was laid. What comfort, what 
adorable condescension for us mothers in that 
scene! — My husband is so moved, he can scarce 


The mitustek’s wooing. 


o75 


stay an hour from the cradle. He seems to look 
at me with a sort of awe, because I know how 
to care for this precious treasure that he adores 
without daring to touch. We are going to call 
him Henri, which is my husband’s name and that 
of his ancestors for many generations back. I 
vow for him an eternal friendship with the son of 
my little Marie; and I shall try and train him up 
to be a brave man and a true Christian. Ah, 
Marie, this gives me something to live for! My 
heart is full, — a whole new life opens before 
me!” 

Somewhat later, another letter announces the 
birth of a daughter, — and later still, the birth of 
another son; but we shall only add one more, 
written some years after, on hearing of the great 
reverses of popular feeling towards Burr, subse- 
quently to his duel with the ill-fated Hamilton. 

“ Ma chere Marie , — Your letter has filled me 
with grief. My noble Henri, who already begins 
to talk of himself as my protector, (these boys 
feel their manhood so soon, ma Marie !) saw by my 
face, when I read your letter, that something pain- 
ed me, and he would not rest till I told him some- 
thing about it. Ah, Marie, how thankful I then 
felt that I had nothing to blush for before my 
son! how thankful for those dear children whose 
little hands had healed all the morbid places of 
ray heart, so that I could think of all the past 


>76 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING 


without a pang ! I told Henri that the lette? 
orought bad news of an old friend, but that it 
pained me to speak of it; and you would have 
thought, by the grave and tender way he talked to 
his mamma, that the boy was an experienced man 
of forty, to say the least. 

u But, Marie, how unjust is the world ! how un- 
just both in praise and blame! Poor Burr was 
the petted child of society ; yesterday she doted 
on him, flattered him, smiled on his faults, and 
let him do what he would without reproof ; to- 
day she flouts and scorns and scoffs him, and 
refuses to see the least good in him. I know that 
man, Mary, — and I know, that, sinful as he may 
be before Infinite Purity, he is not so much more 
sinful than all the other men of his time. Have I 
not been in America ? I know Jefferson ; I knew 
poor Hamilton, — peace be with the dead! Neither 
of them had a life that could bear the sort of trial 
wO which Burr’s is subjected. When every secret 
fault, failing, and sin is dragged out, and held up 
without mercy, what man can stand? 

“ But I know what irritates the world is that 
proud, disdainful calm which will neither give sigh 
nor tear. It was not that he killed poor Hamil- 
ton, but that he never seemed to care ! Ah, there 
is that evil demon of his life, — that cold, stoical 
pride, which haunts him like a fate! But I know 
he does feel ; I know he is not as hard at heart aj 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


577 


he tries to be ; I have seen too many real acts 01 
pity to the unfortunate, of tenderness to the weak, 
of real love to his friends, to believe that. Great 
have been his sins against our sex, and God for- 
bid that the mothers of children should speak 
lightly of them; but is not so susceptible a tem- 
perament, and so singular a power to charm as he 
possessed, to be taken into account in estimating 
his temptations ? Because he is a sinning man, il 
does not follow that he is a demon. If any should 
have cause to think bitterly of him, I should. He 
trifled inexcusably witn my deepest feelings; he 
caused me years of conflict and anguish, such as he 
little knows; I was almost shipwrecked; yet I will 
still say to the last that what I loved in him was 
a better self, — something really noble and good, 
however concealed and perverted by pride, ambi- 
tion, and self-will. Though all the world reject 
him, I still have faith in this better nature, and 
prayers that he may be led right at last. There 
is at least one heart that will always intercede 
with God for him.” 

It is well known, that, for many years after 
Burr’s death, the odium that covered his name was 
so great that no monument was erected, lest it 
should become a mark for popular violence. Sub- 
sequently, however, in a mysterious manner, a 
plain granite slab marked his grave; by whom 

25 


578 


THE MINISTER’S WOOING. 


erected has been never known. It was placed ub 
the night by some friendly, unknown hand. A 
laborer in the vicinity, who first discovered it 
found lying near the spot a small porte-mormaie 
which had perhaps been used in paying for the 
workmanship. It contained no papers that could 
throw any light on the subject, except the frag- 
ment of the address of a letter on whiah was 
written u Henri de Frontiguac.” 




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•*5 

1.50 

.40 

•15 

1.50 


•50 


•50 


1.25 


1.25 


1.50 

1.25 

1.50 

1-50 

1.50 

1.50 

1.50 

1.25 

1.25 

•50 

•50 


I-2 5 


io Works of Fiction Published by 


5. An Earnest Trifler. By Mary A. Sprague. 

6. The Lamplighter. By Maria S. Cummins. 

7. Their Wedding Journey. By W. D. Howells. 

8. Married for Fun. Anonymous. 

9. An Old Maid’s Paradise. By Elizabeth Stuart 

Phelps. 

10. The House of a Merchant Prince. By W. H. 

Bishop. 

11. An Ambitious Woman. By Edgar Fawcett. 

12. Marjorie’s Quest. By Jeanie T. Gould (Mrs. 

Lincoln). 

13. Hammersmith. By Mark Sibley Severance. 

Each volume, i6mo, paper covers 

Riverside Paper Series. (Issues for 1886.) 

14. Burglars in Paradise. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

15. A Perfect Adonis. By Miriam Coles Harris. 

16. Stories and Romances. By H. E. Scudder. 

17. A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite’s Life. By Mrs. 

A. D. T. Whitney. Illustrated. 

18. The Man who was Guilty. By Flora Haines 

Longhead. 

19. The Guardian Angel. By O. W. Holmes. - 

20. The Cruise of the Alabama. By P. D. Haywood. 

21. Prudence Palfrey. By T. B. Aldrich. 

22. Pilot Fortune. By Marian C. L. Reeves and 

Emily Read. 

23. Not in the Prospectus. By Parke Danforth. 

24. Choy Susan, and Other Stories. By W. H. Bishop. 

25. Sam Lawson’s Fireside Stories. By Harriet 

Beecher Stowe. 

26. A Chance Acquaintance. By W. D. Howells. 

Illustrated. 

Each volume, i6mo, paper covers 

Joseph Xavier Boniface Saintine. 

Picciola. Illustrated. i6mo 


$ .50 


• 5 ° 


1. 00 


Jacques Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. 

Paul and Virginia. Illustrated. i6mo i.oo 

The Same, together with Undine, and Sintram. 32mo .75 

Sir Walter Scott. 

The Waverley Novels. Illustrated Library Edition. 
Illustrated with 100 engravings by Darley, Dielman, 
Fredericks, Low, Share, Sheppard. With glossary 
and a full index of characters. In 25 volumes, 12010. 
Waverley. The Antiquary. 

Guy Mannering. Rob Roy. 


II 


Honghton> Mifflin and Company . 


Old Mortality. 

Black Dwarf, and Legend 
of Montrose. 

Heart of Mid-Lothian. 
Bride of Lammermoor. 
Ivanhoe 
The Monastery. 

The Abbot. 

Kenilworth. 

The Pirate. 

The Fortunes of Nigel. 
Peveril of the Peak. 
Quentin Durward. 

Each volume . . . 
The set 


St. Ronan’s Well. 

Redgauntlet. 

The Betrothed, and The 
Highland Widow. 

The Talisman, and Other 
Tales. 

Woodstock. 

The Fair Maid of Perth. 

Anne of Geierstein. 

Count Robert of Paris. 

The Surgeon’s Daughter, 
and Castle Dangerous. 

$1.00 

25.00 


Globe Edition. Complete in 13 volumes. With 100 
Illustrations. i6mo. 

The set 16.25 

( Sold only in sets.) 

Tales of a Grandfather. Illustrated Library Edition. 

With six steel plates. In three volumes, i2mo . . 4.50 


Ivanhoe. i2mo 


1. 00 


Horace E. Scudder. 

The Dwellers in Five-Sisters’ Court. i6mo .... 1.25 

Stories and Romances. i6mo 1.25 

Mark Sibley Severance. 

Hammersmith : His Harvard Days. i2mo .... 1.50 

J. E. Smith. 

Oakridge : An Old-Time Story of Maine. i2mo . . 2.00 

Mary A. Sprague. 

An Earnest Trifler. i6mo 1.25 

William W. Story. 

Fiammetta. i6mo 1.25 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

Agnes of Sorrento. i- 5 ° 

The .Pearl of Orr’s Island. i2mo i- 5 ° 

Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Illustrated Edition. i2mo . . 2.00 

The Minister’s Wooing. I - 5 ° 

The Mayflower, and Other Sketches. i2mo . . . 1.50 

Dred. New Edition, from new plates. i2mo . . . 1.50 

Oldtown Folks. i2mo . I * 5 ° 

Sam Lawson’s Fireside Stories. 1.50 


12 Works of Fiction. 

My Wife and I. Illustrated. i2mo $1.50 

We and Our Neighbors. Illustrated. i2mo . . . 1.50 

Poganuc People. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 

The above eleven volumes, in box 16.00 

Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Holiday Edition. With Intro- 
duction, and Bibliography by George Bullen, of the 
British Museum. Over 100 Illustrations. i2mo . 3.50 

The Same. Popular Edition. i2mo 1.00 

Gen. Lew Wallace. 

The Fair God ; or, The Last of the ’Tzins. i2mo . 1.50 

Henry Watterson. 

Oddities in Southern Life and Character. Illustrated. 
l6mo 1.50 

Richard Grant White. 

The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys, with the Episode 
of Mr. Washington Adams in England. i6mo . 1.25 

Adeline D. T. Whitney. 

Faith Gartney’s Girlhood. Illustrated. i2mo . . . 1.50 

Hitherto: A Story of Yesterdays. i2mo .... 1.50 

Patience Strong’s Outings. i2mo 1.50 

The Gayworthys. izmo 1.50 

Leslie Goldth waite. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 

We Girls : A Home Story. Illustrated. i2mo . . 1.50 

Real Folks. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 

The Other Girls. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 

Sights and Insights. 2 vols. i2mo 3.00 

Odd, or Even ? i2mo 1.50 

Boys at Chequasset. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 

Bonnyborough. i2mo 1.50 

The above thirteen volumes in box 19.50 

*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price {in 
check on Boston or New York, money-order, or registered letter ) by the 
Publishers, 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 

4 Park St., Boston, Mass. ; 1 1 East Seventeenth St., 
New York. 

A Catalogue containing portraits of many of the above authors , 
with a description of their works , will be sent free , on application , 
to any address. 














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